A/N: A little M-ish at times.

The next day is Saturday, and Harry spends most of the day away from the Grid. As much as he misses seeing Ruth, he is relieved that he'll not be distracted by her presence in his line of vision. His meeting with the Home Secretary and the Foreign Secretary lasts almost four hours, and after a sandwich eaten on the run, he rushes to meet an asset in South London. Harry is on his way back to the Grid when he receives a call from Oliver Mace, Chairman of the JIC.

"Harry, are you free at six o'clock? I need a word."

"Not really, and in case you haven't noticed, Oliver, today is Saturday. I have plans for the evening."

"Well, change them. This is important. I've also summoned the heads of Sections A and C, neither of whom had any complaints."

Sycophants, both. "And where is this meeting to be held?"

"Thames House. Sixth floor. No excuses, Harry. I need you here."

Harry hurries back to the Grid to find only Adam and Ros, both sitting at her desk, cups of coffee in front of them. He strides across the floor to them, taking in the empty Grid around them. "Where is everybody?" he asks, when what he means is `Where is Ruth?'

"They've all gone home, Harry," Adam says. "Everyone. Even Ruth. In fact, Ruth left at 4.30."

"I think she has a hot date," Ros purrs, her eyes on Harry, gauging his reaction.

"Right," Harry replies, his face deadpan. "I suppose she's entitled to a social life …... like everyone else."

"It certainly looks that way," Ros adds. "And now it's me leaving. I have sleep to be catching up on. And …... Harry …... Oliver Mace wants to speak with you."

"He already has."

"Slimy sod. I say never trust a man with beady eyes and a bad attitude," she continues as she stands, pushing her coffee cup towards Adam, and then sliding her arms into the sleeves of her jacket as she shrugs it over her shoulders. Harry is already half way to his office, Adam on his heels.

Harry," Adam says, sliding the office door closed behind him. "I've heard about something happening at Cotterdam Prison."

"Heard what? I'm busy. I have a couple of things to do before I go upstairs."

"I'm not sure, but it's something to do with that fire earlier in the week."

"If you consider it to be important, then look into it, and bring your report to our meeting Monday morning. I have tomorrow off."

"So does Ruth."

"Your point being?"

"No point, Harry. I just thought if you had the day off, and she has the day off, you might want to -"

"Thank you, Adam. Is that all?" Harry fights to suppress his short temper.

Adam nods. When Harry points towards the door, Adam takes the hint and leaves, a small smile still on his lips.

With only ten minutes until he has to be upstairs, Harry rings Ruth on her mobile. He explains the situation to her, apologising all the way.

"Harry …. this is something out of your control. You have no reason to be apologising. I understand what your job entails. I've already begun cooking, so I'll make our meal, and you can eat yours when you get here."

"But ….. that might not be until midnight."

"Whatever the time, I expect you here. We have a date and I've promised to give you dinner. Just text me when you're on your way."

Harry can't believe the change in Ruth. Had this been happening a week earlier she would not have been this relaxed. She would have used it as an excuse to draw away from him. As he hangs up, promising to get there at his earliest opportunity, he hopes he'll not be too tired to fulfill the plans they have for after dinner.

When Ruth opens her front door to Harry it is a little after 10 o'clock.

"You've changed," she says, reaching up to receive his kiss. To her, he appears weary and careworn.

"I walked out of the meeting at 8.30, so I've been home to shower and change," he says, placing his holdall on the floor just inside the doorway. He smiles down at Ruth and again kisses her, this time with more feeling, sliding his hands around her waist. Ruth pulls out of the kiss and directs him upstairs to her bedroom.

"It's the second door on the left," she says. "If you have anything which needs hanging, there's some room in my wardrobe. I've already eaten, but I've kept your plate warm for you."

Harry smiles as he begins to mount the stairs. He's tired, but only because for two and a half hours he'd kept his mouth shut, resisting the urge to get up from his chair and punch Oliver Mace in the mouth. When he reaches Ruth's bedroom he opens the door and turns on the light. The contrast with his own bedroom at home is immediately evident. Ruth's room is vibrant with colour and feels homely and warm and inviting. He will enjoy sleeping in here. After hanging his spare trousers, shirt and jacket in her wardrobe next to her clothes, he places his holdall on the floor out of the way. He heads towards the bed and tests it for firmness, then he turns and sits in the edge of the mattress, gazing at the bed behind him, imagining he and Ruth together …. naked ….. under the duvet.

"I see you've made yourself at home," comes Ruth's voice from the doorway.

Harry quickly turns, feeling a tiny bit embarrassed to be caught sitting on her bed. "I was just -"

"Testing it. That's fine, Harry. After all, that's where you'll be spending the night."

"With you, I hope."

Ruth has ambled to the bed, and sits on the mattress next to him. "Definitely with me."

Harry senses the tension between them. He watches her carefully, so that when she falls back on to the mattress he lets himself flop down beside her. They turn towards one another and are soon kissing hungrily, his fingers caressing the soft skin of her neck and shoulders underneath the collar of her blouse, while her fingers slide between the buttons of his shirt, finding his bare skin. He shudders, pushing his hips against her, so that his rapidly growing erection nestles against her pubic bone. He wants this. He wants her ….. desperately. Ruth moans into his mouth and pushes back, and he gasps into her mouth. They can't stop kissing, don't want to stop kissing. He slides his arms around her, pressing his fingers against her lower spine, pulling her flush against him - from chest to thighs - revelling in the warmth generated by their two bodies as they cling together. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Ruth slides one leg over his hip so that her skirt rides up and his arousal is pressed against her underwear. Only three layers of fabric - her lacy underwear and his underwear and trousers - separating his tight flesh from her moist centre. He pushes himself closer to her so that he feels the heat emanating from her. I really really want this, he thinks, as he continues to kiss her, deep and passionate kisses which have him growling into her mouth. Along with the roast lamb he can taste her want, her desire for him. He has to take control – now - before they end up in a quick and untidy shag, their clothes bunched around her waist and his knees. Reluctantly, he begins to pull out of the kiss, pulling his hips away from her, so that she removes her leg from around him. This movement elicits a moan of complaint from Ruth.

"Harry," she says, opening her eyes to look at him. Her eyebrows are drawn together in disapproval, and her lips are flushed and swollen, no doubt like another part of her.

"That was -" His breathing is still rapid and deep.

"Wonderful," Ruth murmurs.

"A little too much too soon. It was a preview of -"

"Things to come?"
He lets out a long breath, emitting a low laugh, his attempt to break the tension between them, and to bring his body under control. He stares down at her, certain that this is not the same Ruth who ran from him just over a week ago. His arms still surround her, his fingers splayed across her back, and against his hips he can feel hers still pressing against him. He wants this almost more than he wants to draw his next breath, but he has to stop this now. He quickly disengages from her by rolling away from her, then he sits up and adjusts his clothing. He can't do a whole lot about his erection. It will settle once he gains distance from her. "I think I might need feeding and watering first," he says, gazing down at her with barely disguised lust.

Ruth has cooked roast lamb for dinner, and Harry is hungry. He wolfs down the lamb and vegetables, offering her his compliments at every opportunity, while she sits opposite him, sipping her wine.

"This is about the best meal I've ever eaten, Ruth. How did you know I love gravy?" He tries to keep the conversation light, but they both know that what happened upstairs has changed everything between them. The air between them is still heavy with tension.

"I assumed you'd enjoy home cooked food."

"I do. Will you marry me?" His words, meant in jest, have Ruth sitting back in her chair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It was meant as a joke, but it's ….."

"Perhaps not the right time for a marriage proposal, Harry."

"No. I'm sorry, Ruth. The next time I ask you, I'll treat the subject more seriously."

"If you ask me again, Harry, I just might have to say yes."

Ruth's tone is light, but as they watch one another across the table, Harry is sure she means what she says. He nods, smiling. "I'll keep that in mind," he says, his voice almost hoarse. As he finishes his roast meal, his stomach is flipping over and over, and he can barely look at her for fear she'll know what he's thinking. He has no difficulty keeping his hands steady, but he is sure that in his eyes she can read his deep longing for her.

"I've made apple crumble," Ruth adds, once Harry takes his last mouthful of potato and gravy.

"Just a small serving for me. No cream. I'm watching my weight."

"What if I watch it for you?"

Harry can barely believe this is happening. He takes his time over his sweets, and then as he finishes he sits back and pats his stomach. "That was magnificent, Ruth. I may never have to eat again."

Ruth smiles with pleasure as she removes his plate, taking it to the sink. They sit at the table, each with a glass of white wine in front of them. Harry is beginning to flag with weariness, and he stifles a yawn. He can't bear feeling tired, not now, not when he wants to go to bed with Ruth, and especially after what happen upstairs before dinner. Perhaps he shouldn't have stopped them. Suddenly he regrets having taken control the way he did. Sometimes he can be a fool where Ruth is concerned.

"Do you want to talk about your day, Harry?" she says at last. After all, she has become his confidante, both personally as well as professionally.

"Not especially," he replies. "There's something nasty stirring in a portion of the members of the JIC. Oliver Mace wants me to come on board with a number of the others who are advocating torture as the default method for dealing with terrorists. I'm appalled, and I told him so. I tried to argue my point, but in the end I realised my pleas were falling on deaf ears."

"That's …. awful."

"It is. He told me that the culture is changing, and I need to keep up. To be honest, Ruth, if that is what I have to sanction in the future, then I will have outgrown this job."

"If you leave, I'll leave with you."

Harry's eyes flash as he looks across the table at Ruth. "You have your whole career ahead of you, Ruth. Don't throw it away because of me."

"I won't be throwing it away because of you. I will walk away in protest ….. if Mace gets his way."

Harry twists his mouth sideways. "I don't think our protests will be noticed."

They watch one another wordlessly, although their silent dialogue is quite clear to each of them.

Eventually Harry announces that he is tired and that he needs to head to bed.

"I'll tidy up here and then I'll join you," Ruth adds.

By the time Ruth enters her bedroom it is approaching midnight, and she finds Harry turned on his side under the duvet, his shoulders moving steadily with his breathing. He is asleep. Ruth quietly prepares for bed and joins him under the duvet. She slides closer to him, close enough so that she is lying against his broad back, his buttocks tucked against the tops of her thighs. She slides one arm around his waist and tucks her hand against his stomach, over his t-shirt. She then stretches her legs until she can wrap her feet around Harry's ankles. His body is very warm, and he moves slowly and rhythmically in time with his breathing. Lying like this Ruth feels safe and warm and comfortable. She rests her head against his back, and as she closes her eyes she wonders why it was she took so long to allow Harry into her life.

When Ruth wakes it is 8 o'clock and she is in bed alone. She rolls onto her back and listens. She is sure she can hear water running in the bathroom down the hall. Then it turns off. Then it turns on once more. She closes her eyes, wondering whether Harry is getting ready to go into work, or – she hopes – preparing to return to bed. She doesn't have long to wait. She hears the toilet flush, and then the water running in the hand basin, and less than a minute later Harry quietly enters the bedroom, his bathrobe open at the front so that she can see he's wearing the same dark grey track pants and a pale blue t-shirt which he wore to bed.

Seeing her awake, he hurries to the bed and leans over her and kisses her. He tastes like toothpaste, and she can smell his cologne on his cheeks. "You've shaved," she says, lifting a hand to run her fingers over his smooth cheek.

"I thought I'd better."

Ruth lifts one side of the duvet, so he shuffles off his bathrobe, and slides across the mattress to lie beside her. Ruth suddenly feels very nervous. Their tumble on the bed the night before had been wonderful, but it had been spontaneous … and frantic and desperate, and …. and so, so needed. She hadn't the time to work herself into a state of nervousness. This morning, with his body lying so close to her, his pupils dilated, his expression one of expectation and desire, she is beginning to think too much, and all she can come up with are reasons why they should wait just a little longer ….. until she is feeling braver. "I'm ….. a little nervous," she says.

Harry slides an arm around her and pulls her closer to him. Then he kisses her – slowly, tenderly, and with only the barest hint of passion. "Better?" he says once he has pulled away from her.

She nods. "A little. It's just that …... it's been a while since I've done this."

"It's been a while for me, too. I thought …. after last night …. that we'd be rather spectacular …. at this."

Ruth smiles and nods, thinking that as unlikely as this pairing is, in some ways it's just about perfect. She gently extricates herself from his embrace. "I need to go ….. you know."

"Of course," he says, as Ruth leaves the bed to head for the bathroom.

In a little over five minutes Ruth is back in bed. She shuffles across the mattress to lie close to Harry, himself lying on his back, watching her every move. This time it is Ruth who leans over him and kisses him. This time there is no excuse for them to be stopping or leaving the bed. This time the kisses are long and deep and passionate. This time their hands wander under clothing, fingertips seeking bare skin, just as heat seeks out heat, while garments are discarded. Once they are both naked under the duvet, hands, palms, fingers, lips familiarise them each with the other as they kiss over and over.

"Let me see you," he says, his voice deep and charged with arousal.

Harry lifts the duvet from his own body, slowly sliding it down so that it rests just above the tip of his erection. He reaches across Ruth to do the same, but she beats him to it, pushing it down to level with her waist.

"Dear God," he says, reaching out to touch her abdomen, his touch light and respectful, as his fingers glide over her skin, his thumb caressing the underside of one breast so that she gasps at his touch. "You're exquisite, Ruth."

The minutes tick by, their exploration of each other occupying them fully. When Harry hovers above her, quietly suggesting to her that `It's time, Ruth,' she is ready. She reaches out, placing her palms against the muscles of his lower back, while her fingers press into the flesh of his buttocks, pulling him towards her. This time heat finds heat as they join. Both sigh their relief as they sink against each other.

They are wrapped together, dozing in post coital haze, when Harry's phone rings.

"Fuck," he says quietly to himself when he reads the name of the caller. "Sorry, Ruth. I have to take this." He extricates himself from her embrace, and climbs out of bed, walking towards the doorway naked, his phone held against his ear. Ruth is admiring his rear view when she hears him say, "Adam – this had better be important."