Feel like I've written resolving conversations between them a thousand times so have come at this one from a slightly different direction. See if it works?
Malcolm sits down on the pew next to Harry.
"Ruth?"
Malcolm nods outside.
"She's fine, Harry."
"Should I…?"
'No, leave her."
Harry settles back thinking that that's all he ever does.
"Ok?" he asks gently as the few mourners walk away.
She nods and he thinks her eyes look a little red. But he doesn't dare press anymore.
"Drink," states Malcolm.
"Drink," says Ruth.
Dimitri, Tariq, Ruth and Malcolm sit at a table. Unusually for a wake their conversation is not about the deceased, they keep clear of him, they talk instead of times past and quiz Malcolm about agents they've never known.
Harry stands at the bar, Ruth watches, aware of the sadness that seems to shroud him today, aware of much more besides.
"Crisps?' asks Ruth not waiting for much of a reply.
"You should have told me about Albany," she says as she settles beside him.
"I know."
He glances at her.
"How did you…?"
"Malcolm."
He nods as the barman delivers the drinks and change and reaches to pick the glasses up. Until, that is, a hand halts him.
"Harry, do you love me?"
"You know I do," he whispers, his eyes still on the glasses.
"You have a funny way of showing it."
Now he looks at her.
"Do I?"
She nods.
"It always seems like it's fairly obvious to me," he says sadly as his eyes rove her face and prove his point.
"I'm not sure, Harry. I think maybe the knighthood's exerting more influence than it should."
"The knighthood?"
"Yes, Sir Harry."
"I don't understand, Ruth."
She smiles.
"Neither did I."
And she's looking at him differently, she's looking at him how she used to and he feels more confused than ever.
Dimitri is suddenly beside them, realising too late that they have stopped talking and are just gazing at each other. He curses himself.
"Sorry, just thought I'd…." he tails off and instead takes the drinks and heads back to the table, his head frantically indicating to the others that there's something going on behind him.
"It's all about chivalry isn't it?" says Ruth, "the way you love me."
"You have no idea of the way I …."
"It's noble, chaste… virtuous," she interrupts.
"Ruth…I…" he doesn't know what more to say to her.
"It's about doing the right thing? Do you always do the right thing, Harry?"
"I think, Ruth, that sadly it's something I rarely manage."
"I disagree. You can't help yourself. You do what should be done. You do the proper thing, no matter what the consequences for you."
"Are we talking about Albany, Ruth?"
"No."
"Right."
He is lost and there is something in his lack of confidence and his confusion that is wonderfully endearing.
"I'd like you to do the wrong thing, Harry."
His brow furrows.
"The wrong thing?"
"Yes. I'd like you to do something out of character. I'd like you to do something you want to do, the thing you most want to do and damn the consequences. Don't stand on the sidelines watching, don't step aside because it's the right thing to do, do what you want, for the first time in your life do what's good for you."
He looks at her, his chest rising and falling, his breath heavy.
"Be selfish, Harry," her eyes are burning with the challenge, "For god's sake for once be selfish. Take what you want."
His eyes are unblinking, intense.
"You've only got yourself to blame, Ruth," he breathes.
"For what?"
"This."
And with a swiftness that takes her truly by surprise she is in his arms, her breath lost in his mouth, her lips crushed against his. His eyes closed as he inhales her, breathes her, envelopes her.
Malcolm wonders why the team before him have stopped listening to his recount of how to dig a hole in the grid using only a guillotine.
He looks between them but their attention is elsewhere. And what ever has grabbed their attention it has also made them smile.
Slowly he looks over his shoulder, hoping to find some tenderness, some closeness, some sign of progress.
Yes, he thinks, that looks like progress.
He glances at the team with a small nod of the head. Within seconds the table is an empty one, the door swings closed.
It's down to them now.
Epilogue in all probability to come for some fluff!