Thank you so much for the reviews! And what do I give you in this chapter by way of thanks? Angst. Mostly. And sweary words. And nary a hint of gratuitous pervyness. (Is that even a word?) Despite all that, I hope you enjoy it...!

His heart sank.

He acknowledged this with more curiosity than sorrow, and his pace didn't falter. Ruth stood, but didn't walk towards him. He took in the white cotton dress that skimmed her knees, the bare legs, the bare feet. As the wind tugged the dress taut against her thighs he was made uncomfortably aware of his own swim shorts, plastered, unforgiving, against cold flesh.

As he approached she huddled into her arms, as if steeling herself for what was to come.

Dispensing with apologies and explanations, she got straight to the point. 'H-Harry, we need to talk.'

'Ruth, unless you've discovered that Al Qaeda plans to nuke Weymouth in the next 24 hours I really don't want to know.'

As he reached her, she couldn't help but notice the scars, the puckers of pink skin, the jagged white lines, that mapped his torso. Her throat constricted, and she dropped her eyes. Harry, seeing her flinch, assumed a reaction to the soft swell of his belly, bloated in middle age by a diet of malt and takeaways and an exercise regime he could only have dreamed of in the days when he tabbed miles over boggy moors before breakfast. Feeling the colour creep up his cheeks he bent and snatched up his towel, half-turning away from her as he began to dry himself.

Ruth took a deep breath and tried again. 'Not about work, about us.'

He yanked his tshirt over his head. 'There is no us. You've made that abundantly clear.'

'Harry, we can't go on like this. You said, at the... you said, "We move on from this", and yet it is patently obvious that you can't, and you've been taking it out on me ever since.'

Harry knotted the towel around his waist and indicated brusquely for her to turn away. 'Taking it out on you? What on earth...'

'You're snappish, and...'

'Ohhhh, yesterday morning? Is that what this is all about? For cr...'

'But it's not just yesterday morning, is it? And-and it's not just me. You've been short with the rest of the team as well. Beth's already wondering what she's let herself in for.'

Having worked his swim shorts down to his ankles, Harry kicked them off. 'Well, Ms Bailey is entirely at liberty to find alternative employment, if that's what she wants. As, indeed, are you.'

Stung, she whirled round. 'Is that what you want?'

Harry manoeuvred his shorts up his legs and over his hips while he considered his reply.

'I don't know,' he said finally. His fly buttoned up, he unknotted the towel and let it drop onto the sand beside him. 'You're probably the best analyst Five has ever had, but...'

Her eyes blazed. 'But because you're pissed off that I said no to your proposal I get shoved off to some Whitehall backwater, is that it?'

A rueful smile on his face, he turned towards her. 'Good to know you think so little of me. But then again, I know that much already. A simple 'no' didn't suffice; you had to point out that once upon a time you would've said yes, only I blew it. Blew it by making the decisions I have to make, have to live with, every day of my fucking life. And if that wasn't bad enough, I got told in no uncertain terms just how fucking bloody tedious married life with me would be!'

'Harry, please don't shout.'

'I mean, Jesus, Ruth!' He laced his hands together at the back of his head, and as she, shaken, went to respond, he continued, 'And as for "we couldn't be more together than we are right now..." I've never heard such preposterous bullshit in all my life! Being together is living together, sleeping together, sharing each other's hopes and dreams, worries and fears. Being together is spending time with each other, talking about everything and nothing or being happy in the silence. It's about listening, caring, love and respect. It's about trust. And perhaps you do respect me and trust me, but only as your boss, and that's as far as it goes, Ruth. That's as far as it goes!'

To her horror, she realised he was on the verge of tears. She reached for him, but he stepped away, grabbed his swim shorts and his towel, and shoved his feet into his flip flops.

'I'm going back to the guest house for a shower and some breakfast. I'd be obliged if you could go back to London and we'll discuss your employment on Monday.'

'Harry, for god's sake!' She watched as he strode across the sand. As he reached the Esplanade, she shouted, 'Harry, wait!'

Scooping up her sandals, she ran after him. For a short arse with a dicky knee, she thought, he can't half shift it when he wants to. Skittering over the tarmac, yelping as grit stabbed at her bare soles, she raced along the pavement and across the street. 'Harry, will you stop bloody running away!'

His shoulders sagged and he slowed.

'Please! I need to explain. For once can we just say what needs to be said?'

Finally, he stopped, and wincing, she stumbled to a halt a few feet away from him.

'Everything I said on the roof...I don't know, I was ...Like I said, I'd been trying to think about why I said what I said, when you asked me to marry you, I mean; and, well, I, I knew that I'd hurt you and I was trying to make things better, but instead I made them ten times worse, and I'm sorry, truly; that was the last thing I wanted to do. And as for what I said at the funeral..I was so, so angry with you, Harry.'

Tentatively, she stepped towards him, her eyes never leaving his face. Harry realised he had never before looked this particular Ruth Evershed in the eye. There was a raw, unpredictable look of desperation in those vivid blue irises. He swallowed.

'Angry?'

Brushing at the soles of her feet with her fingertips, she slipped on her sandals. 'Please, can we talk about this inside or, or...'

'Have you had breakfast?' he asked, quietly.

She shook her head.

'Well, why don't you come in and wait while I have a shower, then we can try out Mrs McCarthy's Full English and take things from there?'

He could almost see the relief wash over her. 'Yes. Yes, I'd like that.'

She smiled. That tentative, dimply, luminous smile.

And he felt his foolish old heart lift, just a little.