A/N A wonderfully long chapter today, and seeing as my other fic that I was going to write for Harry's birthday never got written, this is also serving the purpose of a birthday fic for Harry. Happy birthday, Harry Pearce, you immortal god! Hope you all enjoy as much as I'm sure Ruth is enjoying this.


He can't believe his luck. Truly he can't.

He'd never expected this.

Hoped, yes, but expected? Never.

She's always been so shy around him, so timid and reserved.

Except in front of her mad friends.

He draws her to him for another kiss and she willingly complies, her mouth and body moulding to his. He groans.

Fuck!

Their progress up the stairs is slow – a few steps gained followed by a long pause while they kiss.

He seems a little punch-drunk on their kisses and it boosts her confidence, making her bolder.

They pull up for air and she turns again, leading him up the final two steps to the landing.

They only make it as far as the doorway to the guest-room before he draws her into his arms again. She lets go of his hand now – she's nowhere else to lead him. She's sure he can find his own way to her bed.

Immediately his hand finds its way into her hair where his other is already embedded, holding her head steady while he devours her lips, his thumbs stroking every part of her face they can reach. Her lips tingle, her breasts feel heavy, her loins are throbbing, aching with the need of him.

The fog of desire is making it impossible to think.

God, yes! Yes! Harry. Oh yes, Harry!

Her fingers are unbuttoning his shirt of their own volition, pulling it free of his shorts, gliding up his body, appreciation filling her mind. He's so solid, so broad, so strong, so male. She grasps the flesh around his nipples, squeezing and making him groan and break the kiss.

He stills, breathing harsh, forehead resting against hers for a few moments before he lifts his head to look at her. His eyes are dark, almost black and glazed with lust, but she can see them clearing, sharpening their focus on hers.

They stand in silence for a moment, his hands still cradling her head, hers resting on his chest, flushed skin under her fingertips.

"Ruth," he murmurs softly, reverently. "Christ, Ruth." His voice cracks and he clears his throat.

"Come to bed, Harry," she smiles, pleased and confident in the face of his weakness.

He shakes his head as if to clear it. "Are you sure about this?" He searches her gaze.

Yes! Come on, Ruth. Say, yes! We've just finished analysing this. We're living in the moment, remember? Removing the barriers to love.

But she hesitates.

Damn him for making her stop and think.

"Ruth?"

"I want you," she murmurs, eyes still on his, searching.

"But?" he prompts.

"I've never done this before."

He tilts his head to the side, considering her. "This?" he asks softly.

Surely she can't possibly mean sex, can she?

The lust is gone from his eyes now and there is a gentleness that's replaced it. He cares, she realises and it gives her the courage to go on.

"Had sex with a colleague, my..." She stops herself in time. "The lines are getting all muddled up and blurry and I don't know what to do."

"We don't have to do this, Ruth."

"I know." She sighs. "But I want to," she admits in a whisper.

He smiles and gently guides her into his arms. She sighs again as she rests her head on his shoulder and feels his lips brush her hair. He's so warm and soft and wonderful, and he smells divine. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She feels so safe here. How can that be after only two – not even proper – dates?

God, I'm so confused! Well done, Ruth. You've really done it this time. And that glass of wine isn't helping any. Legend Harry and real Harry are all one jumbled mess.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Don't be," he murmurs, pulling back to look at her, his fingers softly stroking her cheek as he pushes her hair out of her face.

"I feel like such an idiot. I didn't mean to lead you on. I just... I'm so confused."

"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" he smiles fondly down at her. "Our best analyst confused? Surely there must be something to be done about that?"

"You're teasing me," she complains, but it still makes her feel a whole lot better. If Harry can joke about it, things can't be that bad and he can't be that angry.

"Only a little bit," he smiles. "What's troubling you, Ruth?"

"I don't know." She sighs and rubs her face. "I'm not used to this. The legend thing, I mean. It's all a little mixed up in my head."

"Understandable given that we know each other quite well and work closely together," he says, seeking to reassure her despite the pain and doubts that suddenly besiege him.

God, please tell me you feel something too, Ruth? Tell me this isn't happening just because you've lost yourself in a legend.

"I suppose." She drops her gaze from his face to his chest, the disappointment catching her unawares.

"What is it, Ruth?"

"Nothing. It's nothing."

"It's clearly something."

"I don't know who you are," she blurts out. "No, that didn't come out right. You're so different today, so sweet and... playful. And I love that and I'm starting to believe that it's part of who you are, but then I think about it and realise that it might not be, it might be something you're pretending to be, and I just don't know what to believe any more. You're so good at what you do, such a brilliant spy... I thought I knew you, but now I'm not so sure. I really have no idea who you are, how you feel about me, what you're thinking."

Oh Ruth! You do know me. Better than anyone else.

"Hmmm," he hums. "I'm not sure I agree with that, Ruth. The number of times you finish my sentences..."

"That's different. It's work. We're on the same wavelength at work."

"Then perhaps what we need is to spend more time together away from work," he suggests, "to be on the same wavelength there too."

She lifts her gaze to his in surprise.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Ruth." He's doing that staring thing again, waiting for her to fill the silence.

"I... I didn't realise you wanted..." She blushes and looks away.

"To spend time with you?"

She nods.

"Why else would I volunteer to help you out with your mad friends?! Or ask you round to dinner?"

"I... I don't know." She's not quite meeting his gaze now and he's sure he can guess what she's thinking.

"Look at me, Ruth," he murmurs.

She swallows and looks up, relieved to find his gaze full of understanding instead of the accusation she's half expecting.

"It's not about the sex," he says gently. "I do want you. That's hardly a secret at this point, is it?" Here she blushes and looks away again and he can't help finding it utterly charming. "But it's not all I want. If it had been, we wouldn't have stopped to have this conversation – believe me."

She looks a little shocked at that admission. "You would have forced-"

"No," he interrupts. "Not forced – seduced. I'm pretty good at that."

And she feels his right hand leave her hip, where it's been resting, and gently shimmy up her spine, making an involuntary shiver ripple through her and a small whimper escape her lips.

Oh fuck! He's good.

He smiles at her reaction.

"How do you do that?" she asks in wonder as she opens her eyes again. They've drifted closed without her permission, damn them.

"Practice, experimentation and a good memory," he replies, his eyes darker than before.

"You mean like this?" And she slides her hand up his chest, squeezing his pecks and making him groan.

His eyes are dangerously dark and clouded now.

"Sensitive nipples?" she teases, unable to stop herself. The power she has over him is such a new, thrilling sensation.

"No more than yours, I imagine," he growls, his gaze dropping to her chest and it is with the greatest self-control imaginable that he manages to keep his hands firmly planted on her hips. He has yet to touch her there and the longing is almost unbearable.

Her breasts feel heavy again, her insides warm and liquid. She wants him and yet...

"How do you know it's not just lust?" she blurts out.

"How do you?" he counters.

"I never lust after men. The physical alone has never been enough to tempt me."

Her sudden forthrightness makes him wonder if perhaps she's a little drunk.

"Are you saying you have feelings for me, Ms Evershed?" he murmurs, drawing a little closer.

"I guess I am." Her voice is breathless. "Do you?"

"Absolutely. I adore myself. Who wouldn't? Such a gorgeous, intelligent man, who – I'll have you know – is a devil in the bedroom."

She giggles, her eyes dancing with merriment.

"I love to make you laugh," he confesses softly. "These dimples," he lifts a fingertip to touch one, "are delightful. I think I could spend all day watching you smile."

He's ever so close again now, his eyes soft and enticing and she begins to wonder if maybe she's been too quick to over-analyse him, them, their situation. Maybe it's as simple as Harry finding her as wonderful, as irresistible as she finds him. Maybe he's just as much in love with her as she is with him. Maybe this gentle, gorgeous Harry is real, but he's just for her.

"Ruth," he murmurs as if reading her mind, "you are a wonderful, intelligent, kind-hearted, and beautiful woman. I'm drawn to be near you. What man would not want to spend time with you?"

"You'd be surprised," she replies, dropping her gaze self-consciously. "I don't think I've received more than a dozen invitations to dinner in my life and I'm thirty-five years old."

"Selfishly, I'm rather glad." She looks up at him sharply to find him smiling. "Though I'm sorry it's undermined your confidence. Believe me, there is no need for that."

She loses herself in his gentle, engaging gaze again.

"I find you captivating, intriguing, dazzling and so desirable that, I confess, some days I can barely function. There is never a dull moment when I'm with you. And I want to be with you, Ruth." He pauses. Her gaze is so open, so full of wonder and pleasure all of a sudden that it quite takes his breath away. "And I couldn't bear the thought of Danny having that opportunity instead," he whispers, hoping to take the edge off a little. He's perilously close to losing control and the bed is just there.

It works. It makes her laugh.

"I've often wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with lips like Danny's," she teases.

He narrows his eyes at her. Happy Ruth is a relentless tease, he decides and wonders what a very thoroughly serviced and satisfied Ruth might be like.

Steady, old boy. Hold it together. Self-control.

"I had no idea you could be so cruel, Ruth," he says in a hurt tone.

"Sorry," she apologises quickly. "If it's any consolation, I've wondered what it would be like to kiss your lips almost from my first day on the Grid."

He smiles. "And did it live up to your expectations?" He leans in and softly brushes his lips against hers.

She sighs. "Oh yes. It's surpassed them by far."

He kisses her again, a longer, more luxurious kiss this time, his hands slipping back into her hair, a whimper of pleasure escaping her throat.

Easy now, Harry. Easy now. Self-control. Self-control.

He lifts his head to look at her, watching a smile spread across her lips, her eyes still closed as her dimples deepen until they're out in full force and he doesn't think he's ever seen a sight more beautiful. When they open, her eyes are dark pools of ocean blue, swirling, pulling him in.

I'm going to drown in these eyes one day.

"Let's go back downstairs, Ruth," he says gruffly, his self-control almost in tatters.

"What? Why?" She frowns.

"Because it's too soon for this. Standing in the doorway to your bedroom... I'm not sure how much longer I can resist the temptation."

"That's not my room." She smiles, the thought of Harry finding her irresistible warming her heart and boosting her confidence.

"It's not?" He peers into the room. Now she mentions it, it does look a little too tidy by Ruth's standards, hardly lived in at all.

"My bedroom is across there," she explains, "but I have a single bed."

He returns his eyes to hers. "Why?" He frowns, puzzled.

She looks a little embarrassed. "I'm quite small. I don't need a double bed to sleep comfortably and... I feel lonely if there's too much space beside me and no one to fill it."

His heart constricts at the thought of Ruth lying in a vast, empty bed, feeling alone.

"Ruth," he whispers, reaching his hands up to stroke her face. "You don't ever have to feel lonely again."

His lips move down to take hers of their own volition, and when she slips her arms over his shoulders and pulls him close, he knows that he is lost. He can no longer resist her siren call, and judging by her deep sigh of contentment, she's just as happy to follow where he leads.