Thank you all who reviewed both "Love In Ruins" and the first chapter of this story. Your reviews leave me feeling inspired to dive feet first into the next chapters. This story now looks like being 6-7 chapters long.

oOo

"Harry," said Towers, his voice smooth and only very slightly slimy. "What the fuck is going on?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Home Secretary," Harry replied, steeling himself for the bollocking of a lifetime, while at the same time trying to keep the sarcasm in check, no easy task.

"Do I have to draw you a picture? You were reinstated after that Albany fiasco especially to protect these people, only for them to be blown to bits on your watch. Do you have any idea how much of a right royal balls-up this is? The Prime Minister is apoplectic, and you know what a dodgy ticker he has. You really do not want his death on your conscience, Harry."

"With respect, Home Secretary, firstly we don't know if they have been killed, and secondly, our intelligence had continually pointed to tomorrow night's reception at Bannon Hall as being the time and the place where Ilya Gavrick was to be assassinated. Today's bombing was not evident until less than an hour prior to the bomb's detonation."

"Don't give me excuses, Harry. Give me results. This has been the worst possible outcome for the Russian visit, and the flow-on effects for the British economy moving forward are potentially calamitous."

And it won't do your career much good either, William, Harry thought.

"At this time it is far too soon to even speculate as to who is responsible, although all indicators so far point to the US." Harry said, using all the self control he could muster.

"Don't give me that CIA v FSB bollocks, Harry, this isn't the cold war. Spy v Spy – Christ, anyone would think you'd wasted your youth reading Mad magazines. Find someone, anyone, and lock them up. We need bums in cells."

"My people are on to it as we speak, Home Secretary. And as you well know, I'm not on the Grid until tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, yes, I know that. And while I have you on the line, Harry, what in the name of all that's British were you and Ruth Evershed doing today canoodling in full view of the whole world? She's your analyst for Christ's sake!"

"Ruth and I had just survived the bombing of the embassy. We were still inside the building at the time of detonation. It was a …... terrifying experience for her."

Towers' tone suddenly softened. "I know how you feel about her, Harry, it's written all over your face whenever she's with you, but you must surely have known the media would be there."

"At the time it was the furthest thing from our minds, Home Secretary. My chief concern was for my analyst."

"That's perfectly obvious from the news footage. And about Ruth Evershed -"

And so it went on – for another twenty minutes. Towers would drive the ball right down the centre line, and Harry would scramble to reach it and lob it back. By the time Towers was finished with him, Harry had a headache, and his magical interlude with Ruth seemed to have happened in some parallel existence. Real Life had intervened. He thought of ringing her, just to hear her voice, but did not want to risk tainting something still so fresh and so fragile. He'd always had to deal with his responsibilities and difficulties on his own, and it was a hard habit to break. He let his body sink into the sofa and closed his eyes. All he could hear was the muffled boom of the explosion, followed by the sounds of disintegrating masonry and tumbling metal all around him. All he could see was her. He tasted dust in his mouth, and then he tasted her. He felt her warm curves against his body as she lay in his arms. He stayed that way, holding inside him his memories of her, until he was almost asleep.

9 days after the bombing:

As busy as they both still were, only ever free to exchange the occasional look of longing or knowing across the Grid, Harry and Ruth and the team were at last getting on top of the aftermath of the bombing. A tragedy of course, but it had also brought much into the open, and Harry felt the need for talking with Ruth in private. From his office behind the wall of glass he caught her eye. He inclined his head towards the door and mouthed `roof', to which she nodded.

She managed to get there before him. Having opened the door and stepped on to the roof, he momentarily stood and watched her, her body silhouetted against the cityscape, and he briefly wondered how Lord Byron would have described her. He took his place to her left, and like her, leaned against the balustrade. Their bodies were close, but not touching. He was sure she'd be able to hear his heart thumping against his ribcage.

"The results of the DNA tests are in," he said. "The charred body they found in the conference room is Sasha Gavrick's. They matched his DNA with his parents. It's fortunate for us that their bodies at least were easy to identify."

Ruth immediately looked up at him, concern in her face. Harry's confession to her that Sasha Gavrick was his son had temporarily come between them, but that had been before the bombing.

"He was Ilya's son after all," Harry continued, looking out at the city. "Elena lied to me, which means I can't believe anything else she's ever said."

"Nineteen other people died that day, not only the Gavricks," Ruth said. "Their lives were important too."

Harry looked down at her, his breath catching in his throat as he did so. "I know. But I refuse to feel guilty because you and I were... enjoying ourselves ….. while people were dying around us."

"Who said anything about guilt, Harry? What we did was natural, and quite healthy, as it turns out."

"I'm not arguing with that."

Ruth looked back at the city laid out before them. "In the second world war – during the Blitz – we hear all about the looting that took place, but there was sex, Harry, and lots of it. In the air raid shelters, couples had sex in full view of others. When life is tenuous - when people are in danger - to have sex, even with a stranger, is life affirming. I read somewhere that when we are in a situation from which we may not emerge alive, sex is the instinct we all have to ensure the preservation of the species."

Harry looked across at her sharply. "Speaking of preserving the species -"

"It's alright. I took the morning after pill ... the next day. And then I went on the pill. Under the circumstances I thought it best."

Harry smiled at her and nodded, another weight off his mind.

"I'm just glad that it was you I was with, and not ….. some stranger," Ruth continued.

"Or Dimitri," he added quickly.

"Heaven forbid!" Ruth replied, embarrassed by the mental image. "And the perpetrators?" she added. "What about them?"

"Thanks to you and Tariq we have those who built and set the bomb. MI6 have them in custody, but the brains behind it ... I believe he's long gone."

"Jim Coaver?"

"Probably, but he would not have acted alone. We may never know. International relations between the UK, US and Russia have been put back a decade or more. We'll still play the game with the US, but the trust is gone, and Towers blames MI5, but me mainly."

"Harry, that's not fair. It was me who made the connection between the chatter and the Russian embassy, and by that time it was already too late to prevent it."

"Without your work, Ruth, the bomb would have gone off without us having any prior knowledge at all, and upwards of forty people would have died." He sighed heavily. "Towers wants to poach you from me, you know."

"Poach me?"

"He wants you working for him. He hasn't said as much, but the signs are there. She needs to be working somewhere she's valued, were his words. You can expect a dinner invitation from him any day now. You know he'll offer you much more money than you're being paid here, and there'll be no field work, and normal hours."

"He hasn't approached me yet. Until then, we're speculating."

They stood in silence, suddenly aware they were standing only inches away from one another, and so far they hadn't touched. Ruth felt the need to speak her mind, since there may not be another opportunity for some time.

"Harry," she began, "I've been doing a lot of thinking -"

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"About us? Of course not. On the contrary, I'm beginning to see things differently. I think the shock from the bombing must have realigned my brain cells." She looked up at him to find him smiling down at her. "I used to think," she began, looking across at the skyline, "that in order to be with you ... in order to commit to you, I had to... know you ... all of you ...your history, everything you'd done, every decision, every flaw, every secret. I'd believed I had to weigh and measure it all before I could decide who you really are. Now ….. since the bombing and ... what happened afterwards ... I can see quite clearly that what's important ...what I need to know about you...is what I already know. I know that you've killed people, and had affairs, and used people, but it's all been done out of need... to protect your country... your operatives, and those you care about." She took a breath before she continued. "The Harry I know and love is proud, and loyal, and fiercely protective, and honourable...and decent. It's your decency I love the most."

She hesitated before continuing, and Harry knew better than to interrupt. He had waited too long to hear her speak to him in this way, so for how long it took her to tell him was how long it was going to take.

"I know that I was angry with you for giving away Albany to save me. I was so harsh when I spoke to you after you came back. I had the gall to tell you it was unfair to love me, and I know that my words hurt you. And then after you left the Grid to meet Lucas, I was so distraught ….. that what I'd said to you may have led you to ... being killed. At the time I'd thought your going off to die like that was heartless and cruel. I'm sorry for what I said. I know now why you acted as you did. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. Harry -"

Harry had reached his hand across to cover her left hand. Very slowly he lifted his hand, and feathered his fingers along her fingers, from the tips to the knuckles. His touch sent a shiver through her being, ending up in a tingling beneath her ears. Then with his index finger he gently stroked her middle finger, from tip to knuckle, and then back again. There was something so intimate about this that Ruth felt naked, standing here next to him, dressed for the cold, in woollen coat, long skirt and boots. She dare not look at him. All was sensation, all was right here, right now. There was nowhere else. Nothing else existed, nothing but the two of them. The world outside this roof space had diminished and suddenly fallen silent.

From the corner of her left eye she saw him turn towards her, but still she gazed ahead towards the jagged geometry where the buildings met the sky. To look at him right now was just too much for her. He took her left hand in both of his, turning her hand over until her palm faced upwards. With his left hand he folded her fingers back over her palm, and with the index finger of his right hand he caressed her palm lightly, a feather touch. Ruth breathed in quickly, her whole body ignited by his touch. After a while she noticed that his finger had begun a rhythmic dance across her palm, from the heel to the base of her fingers and back again. It was only then she turned to face him. His eyes were alight with ... something. A question? lust? love? Standing so close as they were, on the roof in the cold air of a late London afternoon, they again became one, their hands linked in an act of love.

Neither of them noticed Erin open the door to the rooftop. She stood for a moment with the door slightly ajar, taking in the couple standing close to one another against the balustrade, their hands intertwined, connecting their bodies as intimately as if they were making love. After the bombing, Dimitri had confessed to her that he was sure Harry and Ruth were secretly married. Watching them now, in their bubble of oneness, she was equally convinced that they were not. They were courting, of that she was certain. `Dating' was too blatant a term for Harry and Ruth; too commonplace, too crass. Theirs was a courtship. Harry was wooing Ruth, and the evidence was right in front of her. God knows, they had little enough time alone together, she was not about to interrupt them just because the Home Secretary wished to speak with Ruth. She quietly closed the door and retraced her footsteps, her mind busily concocting the excuse she was going to give Towers.

Neither Harry nor Ruth had been aware of Erin at the roof door. Suddenly Harry's finger came to rest against her palm. "I ache for you," he whispered, his eyes searing hers. "I ache for you here -" he touched his temple, "and here -" and then his heart, "and here -" he said as he placed his hand over his genitals. "Every minute of every day I want you." He grasped her hand in his, linking their fingers. He then took their linked hands and slipped them inside his coat, turning her hand over so that her palm rested against his beating heart. Ruth felt her own heart thumping rapidly against her ribs. "I've thought about this," Harry continued in a quiet voice. "We're both due some time off. What if we apply for a week off together? We can go away somewhere, away from London, somewhere that doesn't have a phone."

"But that could be weeks away. I'm not sure I can wait that long."

"I'm thinking about our second time, Ruth. We need for it to be romantic, careful, gentle. No bombs, no dust, no noise, a soft mattress and a door with a lock."

Ruth smiled at his list of requirements. They were hers also.

"Perhaps that could be our third time," she suggested. "I think we need to bring this second time forward a bit. We're both a bit..."

"Edgy?" he said. Ruth nodded her reply. "Randy?" he suggested, and she smiled up at him.

Ruth slowly circled her fingers over his heart. "My place. Tonight. Bring a change of clothes for tomorrow."

"And I'll pick up some dinner," he added quickly, before she changed her mind. "Cambodian?"

"Anything," she added. "You choose. 7:30?"

"I'll be there."