I've made Ruth a bit bolder than she was in the series, but I had to get it moving somehow!

Harry

Within two weeks, Ruth is back on the grid. She's slipped back into the team as if she'd never been away and I've missed her. Even if I ignore the personal implications, professionally she hasn't lost her touch. The way she quietly and efficiently handles the information and sorts out what's relevant from what isn't. We haven't spoken about us since that occasion when she'd come to my house. The grid's been busy, and to be honest I'm not trying too hard to mention George. I'm too frightened of what she'll tell me, even though I understand that the relationship was more one of convenience than passion. It still hurts.

I have noticed that the knife marks on my arms have faded into scars rather than open wounds. I'm slightly disappointed in this, because it means there's little chance Ruth will touch me the way she did before. I do realise that it's rather sad, to be longing for such a brief touch from her, but I know why.

It's late at night, and I've started on the whisky when I hear a knock on my door. Without waiting for an answer, the door opens and Ruth's head appears. The smile slips from her face when she sees me and my heart drops.

"Oh," she says.

"Oh?" I ask.

"I was going to suggest going out for a drink," she says. "I see you've started without me though." I turn and quickly grab a glass, pouring her a small measure of whisky. When she sees what I'm doing, she comes in and closes the door, sitting on the opposite side of my desk. She cradles the glass before taking a sip. "Oh, that's good," she murmurs.

"How are you… settling in?" I realise it's a stupid inane question the second I've asked it, but I don't want to sit in silence with her.

"It really is like I've never been away," she says. "It's had a redecoration and the systems have been updated, but I can do the job."

"You are doing it incredibly well, too," I say. "I'm glad you're back." The words are simple but I mean them and more. Maybe I show it in my voice, because she looks at me, her blue eyes clear and open, but her gaze doesn't drop. I feel like blushing under her scrutiny, but I'm far too old for that.

"Do you want to know the truth?" she asks.

I don't know. Do I? I say nothing but nod, as she takes another sip of whisky.

"The truth is, I didn't want to come back to the grid for MI5, or for the country, or whatever other reason you might imagine," she says. I wait, wondering what's coming next. "I came back… to be near you." She does blush at this, but holds my gaze and I don't know what to think. Have I slipped into a dream? No, because she's still watching and waiting, for me to say… anything. I don't. Instead I reach for her hand which is wrapped around her whisky glass. She lets go, her palm falling to the desk before I take her hand in mine. I gently allow my thumb to caress her skin, softly and gently. We're both looking at our joined hands and I can't look away. She moves and entwines our fingers together, squeezing gently for a moment. I sigh without conscious thought and she loosens her grip. No, I want to tell her. But then she strokes the back of my hand lightly. Almost teasingly. God, what would her touch feel like everywhere else? I have to turn my mind away from those dangerous thoughts. Not when I'm in a confined space with her.

"Would you like to go to dinner with me?" I ask, before I realise I've formed the thought. I don't want to take it back though, so I wait.

"I do," she says, not letting go of my hand. "Of course I do, but…"

"But?" I ask, feeling my heart drop.

"I need us to go slowly," she tells me. "I can't rush into anything after George. Just a little bit of time."

"Just dinner," I say, smiling at her. I understand. Ruth and I are not the type of people to rush into anything. We never have been. In fact, asking her to dinner after only two weeks on the grid is an incredible speed for us. "I do understand," I reassure her, realising that she's waiting for me to say something. "I don't want anything more than your company over seafood and a bottle of wine."

"I'd love to," she agrees, smiling in a way which makes her eyes sparkle. She's so beautiful when she smiles. I love to see her happy.

"Good," I say. "I'll book a restaurant for Friday night. I think we might have a break in the terrorists and it'll be quiet." I hope. I so desperately hope we can have one night to ourselves. It's a pleasure which can't be underestimated in this job. She squeezes my hand once more before letting go, and I can feel the sense of loss in her touch. She drains her whisky glass and gets up, walking around the desk to me. I feel as if time has stopped for a moment. She leans towards me and presses a soft chaste kiss on my cheek. I feel powerless to react, so surprised am I.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry," she says, letting her voice almost caress my name. I'll never get tired of the way she speaks my name. Her face is flushed, maybe from being more forward than she usually is, but she must know my feelings by now. I watch as she leaves my office, and puts her coat on, before leaving through the pods. I am now alone, but I don't want to be. I want her.

I'm wrapping this story up soon because I don't want it to drag on too long. Just the one chapter left now. Hope you enjoyed it.