A/N: Thanks again for the generous reviews, and the interest in what Harry had promised Ruth. All will be revealed, but not until Chapter 8. However, I'm updating almost daily, so that won't be too far into the future. Hint: It's totally random, and you won't ever guess what it is!

Harry moved his dangling hand to the pillow behind her back, and reached down to kiss her. The first kiss was brief and without feeling.

"Again, please," Ruth said, before he'd had a chance to pull away from her. "This time I think you should kiss me properly."

"But Ruth -"

"Harry …... kiss me like you mean it."

So he did. Harry leaned down to her and kissed her with feeling. All the longing and the fear for her recovery, and his own missing her was poured into that kiss. There was just the slightest touch of tongue on tongue before he pulled away. "I miss you," he said, his voice husky with contained feeling. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you too, Harry, although I've been sleeping a lot …. so maybe I haven't missed you like you've missed me. I'm being given a cocktail of drugs, so I may not be responsible for some of what I say or do, but it might be fun."

"You're in a hospital bed, Ruth. How much fun can we have?"

"Why don't we talk dirty?"

"Ruth! That must be the drugs talking."

Although Ruth's eyes were bright, and her face appeared quite tired and drained and white from her physical ordeal, and the bruising under her right eye was vivid and angry, she managed to break into a cheeky smile. "Harry Pearce," she said huskily, "you're just adorable when you're shocked."

"Christ, Ruth, I thought you were serious."

"Perhaps I am. Either way, talking dirty while I'm imprisoned here with a drip in my arm, and all this other paraphernalia I'm hooked up to is about the only option we have."

"I'll pass on the dirty talk, if you don't mind. You of all people should know how suggestible I am."

She did. On one of their private times together, rather early in their relationship, Ruth had commented that the new bra she was wearing was uncomfortable. Without thinking about it, she'd dipped her hand into her neckline, and adjusted the left cup. When she'd looked up at Harry, she saw a cocktail of desire, lust and love in his face, and a brief glance downwards had reinforced her perception that Harry had been aroused by her words (and maybe her actions as well.)

Ruth lay back against the pillows, and reached out to grasp Harry's hand with her right hand.

"We'll have to content ourselves with hand-holding," she said, smiling across at him. "Now, tell me what's been happening at work. What will happen to Keith Deery?"

Five days after she was shot, Ruth was discharged from hospital. Harry wanted to take her to his house, but she was adamant about staying in her own flat.

"I understand your need for independence, Ruth, but this isn't the time for it. I can look after you in my house, and still have time to pop in to work."

"But I don't want to put you out."

"It will put me out less were we both living under the same roof, than if I have to keep going to yours to visit you."

"Okay," Ruth said quietly.

Harry was sensing victory, but he could tell by the creases on her forehead that they had not yet reached the finish line.

"So you'll stay at my house for your recovery? I'd like that."

"Where will I sleep?"

"Wherever you like, Ruth. There's my bed. I'm not asking you to sleep with me biblically, but were we sharing a bed, I could keep an eye on you during the night."

"Do you have any other beds?"

"Of course. There's a guest bedroom which has a double bed, and there's another small room with a single bed, and there's a divan bed in my office. You might prefer the guest bedroom. It has its own bathroom. That way you won't have to share my en suite with me."

They were sitting on a bench in the atrium of the hospital. Considering that beyond the walls of the hospital one of the largest cities in the world rumbled and roared, the atrium was an oasis of calm and quiet. Ruth sat back and lifted her face to the glare from the glass above them. She closed her eyes and breathed in. Harry also sat back, wondering whether she expected him to say more. Should he keep talking? Should he plead? Should he appeal to her need for comfort? This was one of those times when Ruth bewildered him. She confounded him more than any woman he had ever met, and yet her mystery was one of the things he loved about her. She was not like any other woman he'd ever been attracted to, and that alone intrigued him.

What was it about Ruth that drew him in, moth to a flame? Where did one begin? He found her sexy – definitely – and funny – most of the time – intelligent – always – and …... and …... unique. He had never met anyone quite like Ruth. He had never experienced a time with her when he'd been absolutely sure of what was going on in that incredible brain of hers, or how she would react. He was never, ever bored by her, and he had always become bored by the women he'd been with in the past. Even Jane's nagging about him never being home had become repetitious and downright boring …... even when most of the time she'd been right.

Ruth was an enigma …... a sexy, intelligent, funny, quirky, confounding enigma, and he loved her with every cell of his body, and every breath he took. He couldn't help himself, and nor could he go back and decide that loving her was too hard, too painful. It was too late for that. He was hers, whether she wanted him or not, and he was fairly certain she wanted him. She had a way of looking at him which set his body alight. He'd feel movement in his trousers, a flush on his cheeks, and butterflies in his tummy, and sometimes all she'd done was look at him with open appreciation. When it happened on the Grid, which it often had, he could only hope he'd be sitting down. On the few occasions when he had been standing in front of her, he'd smiled at her, turned and walked quickly away.

"Harry," she said at last, opening her eyes, but looking around her and not at him. "Are you asking me to stay at your house hoping I'll stay there after I'm well, and so then you'll have me where you want me?"

"What? Ruth, what does that even mean? I'm asking you because it will be the most convenient for us both. Alright, so you may prefer your own place, and -"

"I don't. I don't prefer my own place." Ruth turned to look at him. Her face was serious, but there was at last a softness around her mouth.

"You don't? Why not? I thought that's where you wanted to go after you leave hospital."

"Not really. I was just trying to determine whether you want me in your home while I recover, or whether you're being heroic."

"Heroic? Christ, Ruth, I'm no hero. I'm just trying to solve the problem in front of us. I want you in my house – yes – and I want you to stay with me – yes – but I don't want you to be there if you'd rather be somewhere else. I'm not a martyr. We've talked about having a future together, but I don't see your injury as an opportunity to fast-track the living-together process. I'm not a predator waiting to pounce. You're free to live wherever you want."

She smiled at him then, a wide and loving smile, and she reached out with her hand and lay it on his knee. "Thank you, Harry, and I beg to differ. You are heroic. You're my hero."

Harry felt tears well in his eyes. He rarely cried. He'd cried the night Ruth had left to go into exile, and he'd cried after Ros's funeral, although on that evening he was grieving two losses – Ros, and Ruth, who had turned down his poorly-timed marriage proposal. He allowed a few tears to roll down his cheeks, and he willingly accepted the kiss Ruth offered him.

"My hero," she whispered against his cheek. "You are my hero, Harry."

Tentatively, he reached around her with his arms, and pulled her closer. She didn't flinch or pull away, so he pulled her against him, and pressed his lips into her hair. "I'm no hero," he repeated, his voice quiet. "I'm just a man who loves you."

Ruth pulled away from him then, and looked at him, her eyes scrutinising his face. She reached up with her right hand, and stroked his cheek, brushing away his tears with her thumb. "I heard what you did for Keith Deery," she said quietly, placing her lips gently on his own. "Nothing is sexier to me than a man who is prepared to act from his heart rather than his ego, a man who is prepared to act with compassion."

"I couldn't just let him wallow in one of those government institutions, Ruth. He would have died in there. I felt responsible for what happened to him …... even though he shot you."

"Had he known it was me, I'm certain he wouldn't have pulled that trigger. I've no doubt he thought I was a government agent come to take him away."

"Which – technically – you were."

"When I'm more mobile, Harry, can we visit him? It's a lovely hospital you have him in. It was the act of a good man, Harry."

"I have to confess that I only paid for his first month in the hospital. The Home Office is picking up the rest of his tab."

"Does Towers know that?"

"Probably not. I made the arrangements through his staff, and all his PA needed was his signature. That was not terribly heroic of me, Ruth."

Again, Harry pulled her towards him, and slid his arms around her. She tried to snake both her arms around his neck, but flinched when the muscles in her left shoulder strained and hurt her. Slowly and reluctantly she pulled away from him.

"It's time for us to go, Harry. To your place."

Ruth had been advised to take a minimum of a further two weeks off work. Three times a week, Harry drove her back to the hospital for her physiotherapy sessions, and while there, Ruth also took time for a swim in the hospital pool. Her body was getting stronger every day, and her mobility was improving. By her tenth day at Harry's house she was preparing dinner for them both, but aside from that, she spent her days on the sofa in the sitting room, reading or watching DVD's. Curled up on the other end of the sofa would be Harry's dog, Scarlet, careful to not touch Ruth's feet, the little dog's eyes opening quickly whenever Ruth moved. Scarlet had not yet figured out who Ruth was, and what she was doing in the house shared by she and her human.

Ruth had chosen to sleep in the double bed in the spare room, not because she wanted to, but because she thought she should. Just as she'd been worried about what their work colleagues would think had they dated openly five years earlier, she was worried about how Harry would feel about her were she to offer to share his bed. It seemed too late now to change her mind.

On the morning of the tenth day living in Harry's home, the front doorbell rang. This hadn't happened in the days Ruth had been living there. Harry was at work for most of the day, and managed to get home for dinner by 7 each evening. Ruth lifted herself from the sofa, and walked down the hallway to the front door. She opened the door to find a tall and elegant, but haughty middle-aged woman standing on the other side.

"Is Harry Pearce here?" she asked in heavily accented English. Ruth's brain registered Moscow-accented English. Is this woman Ilya Gavrik's PA? No, too posh, and besides, his PA would no doubt be a man. His wife?

"And who might you be?" Ruth asked coolly.

"I need to speak to Harry. Is he here?"

"And I asked you who you are," Ruth persisted. She had a fair idea about the identity of this woman.

"Tell Harry I called," the woman said, lifting her face in a haughty manner.

"I'm unlikely to tell him anything unless you tell me who you are."

Suddenly, the older woman's face broke into a smile – not a very nice smile, but a smile all the same. "You must be Ruth," the woman said. "I have heard about you," and then she held out her hand for Ruth to shake.

Ruth ignored her hand. "I think you'd better go," she said, and quickly closed the door.

Ruth went back to the sitting room, and picked up her mobile phone from the coffee table. Her hands were shaking, and she could feel her heart pounding inside her chest. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she pressed the first number on speed dial, and the call was picked up after the second ring.

"Ruth, are you alright?" Harry said – mildly panicked and slightly louder than usual.

"I was until ten minutes ago. I've just had a visit from Elena Gavrik."