It is only a few weeks later that tragedy again strikes the team on the Grid.

Harry and Ruth have worked well together, their personal relationship left at the pods as they enter the Grid. Most evenings after work are spent together, and on some of these evenings, one will stay over at the home of the other. For now, it is working well, although Harry is looking forward to a time when the arrangement they now have – which is somewhat casual and spontaneous – can become more predictable. He craves permanence and stability with Ruth. He'd always believed that women also wanted stability with their partners, but he's talking about Ruth, and nothing about her is at all like other women he has known. The truth is, Harry is afraid to raise the subject with Ruth, for fear she'll feel corralled into a permanent arrangement with him. There are times when he wishes he could read her mind, but then …... perhaps it's a good thing he can't. He couldn't bear learning that she's not as besotted with him as he is with her.

Then the terrorist attacks begin in earnest, and everyone on the Grid is required to be there for as long as they are able to remain awake. Personal relationships and families have to take a back seat.

During these frantic few weeks, Ruth worries about Harry, but he assures her he is travelling well. One afternoon, she and Malcolm are working together, chatting about a play Malcolm had seen the previous week, and had almost gone to the box office afterwards, demanding his money back.

"It was called experimental," he says, "and I have no problem with that, but I expect something better than a village amateur production, especially after the money I parted with. Had I been accompanied by a lady I cared about, I'd have died from the embarrassment."

"Sorry to interrupt."

It is Harry. He has entered the room, and is standing beside their table. Malcolm stops speaking, and both he and Ruth look up into Harry's face. Ruth is so surprised to see him that she temporarily forgets they are at work, and looks up at him with open adoration. Her expression quickly changes, as what he has to tell them fills her with horror. They have lost another one of their own, and this time it is Colin.


That evening, they make their way to Adam's flat to regroup, and discuss ways of responding to Colin's murder. Ruth travels with Malcolm and Zaf in Zaf's car, while Harry travels there alone. Ruth sits near the corner of Adam's settee, and is not surprised when once Harry arrives, he sits across the corner from her, and leans towards her. It is his way of saying that he needs her. It may also be his way of offering her some small comfort. Throughout the meeting, Ruth glances at Harry, noting his distress. His body language shows her how powerless he feels. Harry is a man used to taking charge, and Colin's senseless death has dented his confidence.

Without a word passing between them, after she leaves Adam's flat, she accompanies Harry to his car. Malcolm and Zaf seem to understand. Ruth is sure they all sense something going on between the two of them, but they are too polite to offer comment.

Ruth climbs into the passenger seat beside Harry, and closes the door behind her. She looks across at him to see him sitting there, deflated.

"I handled that badly," he says quietly.

"Yes, you did rather. Come home to mine. We can pick up something to eat on the way."

"I have so much I need to do," he says, passing a hand over his eyes.

"Leave it until tomorrow ….. when you're feeling fresher. Malcolm and Zaf are going back to the Grid, and I have the junior analysts working until midnight. You need a break."

"I'm not sure I deserve it."

"That's ridiculous talk, Harry. No-one works harder than you. Come on. We can talk when we get home."


They sit at Ruth's dining table and eat, mostly in silence. Ruth's chatter – her attempts to lift Harry's spirits – are met with little more than grunts, and one-word answers.

"I feel useless," he says at last. They have settled into Ruth's bed, and are turned towards one another, their fingers linked on the mattress. With only the hallway light to illuminate the room, their faces are barely more than shadows on their pillows.

"Harry, you can't continue to beat yourself up over this. The Gulf War veterans op was successful -"

"For now."

"Pablo's movements are being recorded, his electronic communication scrutinised …... and Cabinet are discussing changes to how veterans are managed."

"Talk is cheap."

"None of us saw this coming, Harry. It's perverse that Colin was targeted. We're dealing with something rather nasty now, and your taking personal responsibility for Colin's death won't bring him back."

"I know. It's just that I don't know what to do next."

Ruth pulls away from him, turning her shoulders so that she can look him in the eye. "Then leave the decision-making to Adam. He needs to keep busy. He needs to feel useful. And he is rather fired up right now."

"I know. I just hope he doesn't act foolishly."

"Honey …... you have to trust him."

Harry turns his head on the pillow, a small smile on his lips. "You called me honey."

"I was just …... practising …... seeing how it felt to say it."

"And?"

"It felt strange …... and somehow wrong. What if it becomes a habit, and then one day I call you honey on the Grid?"

"That could cause …..."

"Raised eyebrows."

"Yes."

"Adam is your section chief …... Harry. His job is to lead during times like these. Besides, you have quite enough to do without carrying any more on your shoulders, broad as they are."

"You should work in Whitehall, Ruth."

"No thanks," she laughs lightly. "Aside from the awfully long hours, and the terrible pay, I enjoy my job. Besides …..." Ruth smiles into Harry's eyes, "I have a rather attractive boss."

Ruth is relieved to see the beginning of a proper smile on Harry's lips. "Flatterer!" he says, before he leans over to kiss her. The kiss is hardly chaste, and Ruth sinks into her pillow as he covers her body with his, sliding his fingers down her neck, so that she shivers at his touch.

"Yes, but flattery works every time with you, Mr Pearce."

Harry's fingers reach under Ruth's t-shirt, sliding over her skin. He kisses her in the way which tells her that he wants her. She wants to resist him on this night, the night of the day Colin Wells has been so brutally and senselessly murdered.

"We shouldn't, Harry," she says at last, pulling away from him, breathless, her skin burning with desire.

If only she didn't want him so much. She's still not used to this …... to them. They – she and Harry, together – overwhelm her at times, and she is not sure that this is wise, or even healthy. She brings her mind back into the moment to see that Harry is watching her, his face a map of confusion and hurt.

"Ruth …... we need this. We need to comfort one another. We've been so busy these past two weeks."

"And you're that desperate for a shag?"

As soon as the words have left her mouth, she wants them back. It was a crass and unfitting comment to have made. She knows Harry better than that. He is not that kind of man. He is not after sex just for the sake of it.

"I'm sorry," she says, but it is too late. Harry has rolled off her, and is lying on his back on his side of the bed. He has broken contact with her, one arm across his stomach, while the other is by his side, on the bed between them. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Then why did you?" he says quietly, his eyes staring ahead.

"I …... it just came out. I don't think of you in that way, Harry. It's …... it's what I've come to expect from men, and I keep forgetting that you're not like other men …. some of the men I've known."

Ruth waits in the silence, in the near dark. She knows she's made a mistake. She can feel the distance between them, and it is like a solid object. She did that. She has ruined them. All it has taken are seven ill-thought words, and they are threatened.

Is this all they are? Two people who are held together by the finest and most delicate of gossamer threads? Is it that easy to shatter them? Can they be destroyed this easily?

"Do you want me to go?" he asks, his voice giving away nothing of the panic he is experiencing.

"No."

Ruth waits, trying to find the right words to say to him. She wants to ask for forgiveness, and to roll over on to him, and kiss him until he forgets what has just happened. But that won't work. She knows it won't work. Her words, about him being desperate for a shag, will hang between them no matter what she says and does now.

"Perhaps I should go anyway," he says, lifting the duvet in preparation for leaving the bed.

Ruth grasps his arm, perhaps too tightly, and he stops, and turns to look at her. The sadness she sees in his eyes brings instant tears to her own.

"Harry, please stay," she whispers. "I'm not used to …... this. I don't know how to be with you. I'm …... I've never been good at relationships. I inevitably mess them up …... somehow."

Harry sighs, taking his hand from the duvet, so that the bed cover flops silently, covering his thighs. "Are you alright, Ruth?" He glances the backs of his fingers along her cheek where her tears glisten.

Ruth doesn't know how to answer that question. `No, I'm not alright', means that she's pathetic and teary and weak. `Yes, I'm fine thank you', makes her sound cold-hearted.

"I don't know," she says at last, turning to face him.

At least she has answered honestly. She doesn't know. She doesn't know anything. She's rubbish at this, rubbish at being a girlfriend, and especially rubbish at being Harry's girlfriend. He deserves someone better than her, someone who knows how to look after him, and to make him happy. She only ever makes him miserable.

And before she can say anything else, her face crumples, her shoulders shake, and she turns her face into Harry's shouders, as she cries out her confusion, her heartache, and her grief for Colin, a man who never hurt anyone.

Harry slides his arm around her shoulders, holding her as close as she allows. He has no idea what is going on, other than he feels frightened, and not only of the people who murdered Colin Wells.