Thank you to all who are still following this fic, and especially to those who take the time to review. All views & opinions are valued.

This story has been so heavy I thought it could do with a little H & R nonsense. They certainly need the nonsense.

oOo

"God, Harry, you didn't tell me your bed was quite that big!"

"I told you it could sleep eight."

"You've tested that theory of course?"

"No, it's just an estimate."

"I think a closer estimate would be that it can sleep three generations of the one family."

"All at the same time?" he asked.

"All at the same time," she replied. "And you've been sleeping in this enormous bed alone?"

He looked at her, a slight frown puckering the skin between his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ruth added, breaking eye contact with him, and shaking her head, "that's none of my business."

"It is now. The truth is that since I bought this bed just over five years ago, I've had no-one to share it with. Until now. I bought it not long after you ….. left ... to go away, when I felt I needed cheering up. Unfortunately, all it did was remind me daily that you had gone, likely never to return. Now, though, this bed is yours as much as it is mine. You can stake a claim on it." Harry watched Ruth looking around the room. He followed her eyes as they scrutinised the space.

"It's a very masculine room," she said.

"I'm sure you've noticed by now, Ruth, that I'm a man. Ergo, I'm of the masculine persuasion. Were this room in any way feminine, you might have some reason for concern."

"I had noticed your gender, Harry. It's a bit hard to miss it. I wasn't criticising your tastes. This room is very `you'. I like it."

"But."

"But?"

"When you said, `I like it', there was an implied `but' after that statement," he explained.

"Well …... now you mention it," she said, "grey is something of a non-colour for a duvet."

"I think of it as practical," he said. "You can put any colour at all with grey."

"So, why haven't you?"

"Why haven't I what?"

"Added any other colour?"

"There's the walnut wardrobe and dresser and bedside tables."

"Elegant, yes, but colourful, not so much," Ruth pointed out.

"I take it that you already have plans to redecorate," he said.

"Me? Heavens no. I wouldn't dream of it. But I think you need some colour in the duvet. Something to brighten up the grey."

"That's redecorating."

"What is?" she asked.

"Changing the colour of the duvet is redecorating."

"No, Harry, changing the colour of the duvet is changing the colour of the duvet. Redecorating is when you paint the walls, or change the furniture."

"What do you think of the walls, then?"

"The walls?" she asked, seeing, as if for the first time, the pale ice-blue colour of the walls. "They're fine."

"Good," he replied. "I'm glad you at least approve of the walls. It's called arctic blue."

"What is?"

"The colour of the walls is called arctic blue."

"You painted the walls yourself?" asked Ruth, trying, but struggling to imagine Harry on a ladder with a paint roller and streaks of pale blue paint on his face and in his hair.

"Well, no, but I chose the colour."

Ruth nodded, smiling. "I love this room, Harry. It's very `you'."

"You've already said that, Ruth."

"I have?"

"You have. You said `it's very you' after you said you liked the room. Now, this time you said you love the room. I think perhaps what you're saying is that you're warming to this room. The question you need to be asking yourself, Ruth, is if you can manage to sleep in this room, grey duvet and all?"

"There's only one thing I need for me to be able to comfortably sleep in here."

"And that is?"

"You."

"Me? Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"You're rather easily pleased."

"No, I'm not. I'm actually very difficult to please where my choice of men is concerned. I prefer my men to be fair-haired – although a slight ginger tinge is acceptable - slightly balding, and somewhat taciturn. Do you know how hard it's been for me to find a man like that?"

"Taciturn?"

"And sexy, of course. Any man I sleep with needs to be fair-haired, slightly balding, taciturn and quite sexy. And I quite like a little bit of excess flesh, too. That would make me happy."

"That doesn't sound flattering at all, Ruth."

"Don't underestimate the attraction of excess flesh, Harry. It gives a woman something to hang on to, and on some men it can be quite sexy."

"So, sexy is important, you say?"

"Oh, without a doubt."

"I hope I can live up to all that."

"Oh, I know you can, Harry."

"Do you need me to prove it?" he said, stepping behind her and sliding his arms around her waist, nestling his face into her neck.

"You're very …... persuasive, Harry. A girl could be persuaded by your approach."

Harry turned her around and looked at her, a smile on his lips. "So," he said, "are you persuaded yet?"

"Not ….. quite. Persuade me some more."

He leaned down and gently put his lips against hers. Her mouth opened beneath his, and their kiss, whilst slow and gentle, became deeper and more intense. She pushed her fingers into his hair, drawing him even closer. Sensing where this was likely to lead, and reminding himself that there was still shopping to be done, and an afternoon appointment with Towers, Harry very reluctantly pulled out of the kiss.

"I sense you've been won over," he said, a smug smile on his face.

"But you seem -"

"Distracted by things still to be done. People to see, kitchen cupboards to fill. That sort of thing."

Ruth smiled into his eyes and trailed a finger along his lips and down his chin and so to his throat. "So," she said, "shall we call that the curtain raiser to much later?"

"By that I take it to mean we can continue this at a more convenient time?"

"Yes, that's what I said – same place, different time."

"I look forward to it."

.

They walked to the shops and came back each carrying several shopping bags. They unpacked their shopping together. Ruth had a need to know how Harry organised the food – what went where.

"I have my appointment with Towers at three," he said, needing to remind himself as much as she needed reminding. "We can have some take-away tonight."

"You have cupboards full of food, and so you decide we need to eat take-away?"

"I'll be doing a little more shopping after I see Towers. Handing in my resignation shouldn't take very long, but the shopping might."

"But Harry, I can cook dinner, so why buy take-away?"

"You will not cook, Ruth. I'm meant to be looking after you. All you have to do is relax, have a sleep if you like, read, and I'll bring home dinner after I do my shopping."

"What are you planning to buy?"

"It's a surprise."

"Will I like it?" she asked.

"I hope so."

"What is it?"

"You might be a born spook, Ruth, but so am I. You can't catch me out that easily. It's a surprise, which means you'll have to wait until I get home."

.

It had already gone six-thirty by the time Harry arrived home. He lugged in his two parcels – one large and one not so large – hoping that Ruth would not be at the door to greet him. She wasn't. He could hear the water running upstairs, meaning she was either showering, or she was running a bath.

For once in his life, his timing seemed to be perfect!

Carrying his parcels upstairs, he crept past the guest bathroom where he heard Ruth splashing about in the bath. He reached his – no, their bedroom without incident, so he took his parcels inside the room, and quietly closed the door behind him. Ruth would have thought ahead, taking her clothes into the bathroom with her. She would have no need to enter the bedroom until later.

.

Harry had also picked up some Chinese and some Indian food on the way home, so after he'd dealt with his parcels, he set the table with plates, cutlery, and place mats. This was to be their first proper meal in his house. Correction, in their house. Ruth entered the kitchen as he was putting the take-away food on to serving dishes. He heard her, could smell her perfume, but he didn't turn around. She stood close behind him, so close that he was sure he could feel her breathing. Then he felt her arms slide around his waist, so that her hands settled on his expanding waistline, her fingers drawing delightful circles over his abdomen.

"As I said earlier today," she began, "I love a little extra flesh on a man."

"I certainly fulfil that particular criterion." He turned in the circle of her arms, and kissed her. "Now, help me carry this to the table."

As they ate, Harry told her about his meeting with Towers.

"He had all the paperwork ready. It was rather painless. I have quite a lot of leave owing, so I'll still be paid at my usual rate for a while. After that, my pension kicks in. Towers also mentioned the pensions being paid to you and the other seven people who were experimented on."

"You make it sound like we were rats in a lab."

"In my mind, you were treated that way, Ruth. I'm still angry about it."

"What did Towers have to say about the money for us?"

"The DG still has to sign off on it, but it should be through within a month."

"What about those people who have no other form of income? How will they survive for a month?"

"I think the security service have some kind of emergency fund to draw on for that. I convinced Towers that you should be paid at the same rate you were being paid when you worked for MI5. I tried to get him to agree to the same rate he'd been paying you at the Home Office, but he wouldn't do it. Miserly bastard."

"I'm just happy to be paid at all, Harry. I don't want to be sponging off you for too long."

"You're not."

"Not what?"

"You're not sponging off me, Ruth. I'm willingly sharing what I have with you. To me, it's an act of love. What's mine is yours, and all that."

Ruth looked across the table at this man – this perfect man for her, the one who had been born to find her, woo her, and eventually wait for her until she was ready to allow him to love her – and she couldn't believe what she was hearing him say. He looked up, and seeing the love and longing in her eyes, put down his fork and said quietly, "Are you ready to finish what we began earlier?"

"But it's not even eight-thirty."

"Does that matter?"

"Not really. I am a little tired."

"Too tired to pick up where we left off?" he asked.

She slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving his.

.

They climbed the stairs without touching. They were each hyper-aware of the charge in the air between them, and so to touch the other was perhaps tempting fate. Harry reached the bedroom door first, and he opened it, and quickly walked across to the bedside table to turn on a lamp. He turned just as Ruth let out a cry.

"Harry!" she said, putting her hand up to her mouth. "You bought a new duvet. And the cover is …... it's blue!" She walked to his side, still overcome by the surprise.

"Do you like it?" he said, already pleased by her response.

"I love it. It's a colour, Harry. It's only one colour, but it's -"

"It's not grey," he said. "This colour reminds me of your eyes," he continued. "I picked this one because it blue-grey, and it matches your eyes. Which is infinitely better than the last one, because that was the same colour as -"

"Storm clouds," Ruth finished for him.

"Yes," he laughed. "It was the same colour as storm clouds. Which is no doubt the reason I've never had anyone else in my bed."

"Obviously," she repeated. "It was definitely the storm-cloud-grey duvet which put off all those women clamouring to share your bed."

"There has only ever been one woman I've wanted in this bed with me."

"I hope you mean me."

"Of course."

"And you thought a grey duvet would be just the thing to entice me into your bed?"

"Would I have got you here quicker had I had a blue duvet?"

"No doubt, Harry. I'd take blue over grey any day."

"I'll have to remember that."

"Please do." Ruth turned to face the man standing next to her. "Harry," she said, touching his arm, "please kiss me."

He stepped towards her, and put one arm around her, while his other hand lifted her chin, bringing her face closer to his own. He gently put his lips on hers, feeling her mouth soft and pliable beneath his. He pulled her against his body, while lips parted so that tongues could entwine, reaching deeper into the other. He felt her hands slip under his jumper, and then she grasped his shirt and lifted that from the waistband of his pants. He bent his head to kiss her neck, just below her ear.

"It's time," he said. "It's time for us." He gently led to the bed, where he held her shoulders while he lay her down. He then climbed on to the bed and lay down beside her. As much as he wanted her – all of her – he knew he would have to take things slowly.