I should warn you that there is some semblance of plot. I've been plotting for a while but readers might not be expecting it.

The usual disclaimers apply. There are references to multiple series, including spoilers for eight and nine, and there is a mature rating.

Not Close Enough

She woke up knowing exactly where she was. She'd slept a naked, deep sleep, felt a bit sore and had absolutely no desire to reach for the toy that lived in her bedside table drawer.

Harry's location was more of a mystery. There was no Today Show bickering coming from downstairs or showery pattering in the en suite. No snoozing blond knight was buried under the duvet and no familiar silhouette sat at the end of the bed pulling socks on. There was just a navy blue dressing-gown. It was slung across the bed at calf level and when she ventured a hand out into the chilly morning air and pulled it close she discovered that it practically reeked of him.

Several hearty sniffs later, Ruth got up, put the dressing gown on and set off to explore. It didn't take her long to locate her quarry because he was in the spare bedroom. She watched him as he bent to his task. Bare-chested, trousers on but belt undone, Harry was ironing his shirt.

'I tend to choose clothes depending on whether I can get away with not ironing them,' she said.

'I'd noticed,' he replied without looking up. 'It used to irk me.'

'Is this part of your routine? Or do you usually devote an hour or two at the weekends to crease eradication?'

White cotton swished against silver fabric. Steam hissed. 'It's my preferred routine. But there's always one shirt ready in the wardrobe and one in the drawer at work.'

'Waking up next to you would have been... something.'

He looked up at that. His eyes widened as if he was surprised to see her really standing there. He put the iron down and sighed. 'Sorry. I was going to do this and then make you some coffee.'

She moved closer. Sidled around to his side of the ironing board. She loosened the dressing-gown and slid her arms around his waist. He made a helplessly pleased noise as her breasts touched him and pulled her closer.

'Don't worry,' Ruth said in a muffled voice. 'This'll do.'

'No, it won't.'

She froze. 'Er, what?'

'I have to leave in twenty minutes. Thirty at a push.'

'So?'

'So I have to be ready to face the world.'

'Oh.'

He disengaged himself, hauled his gaze away from her and cleared his throat. 'It's not just about getting my tie straight.'

Ruth's hands scrabbled for the belt of her dressing-gown and her cheeks began to burn. 'No. No, I can appreciate that. Do you need me to leave at the same time?'

'No, don't rush. I deliberately didn't wake you up.'

'Have you got time for coffee if I make it?'

'Yes, I think so.'

'Right, then.'

Fifteen minutes later, they stood in the hall with matching mugs. Harry was neat as a pin: black suit, cream tie, coat buttoned up, leather gloves in his pocket. In reaction, Ruth had simply donned a fresh pair of socks as protection against cold tiles. She listened raptly as he explained how to arm and disarm the burglar alarm and handed over a spare key.

'I'll see you on the Grid,' he said eventually. 'Nine o'clock?'

'Okay.'

He drank the last of his coffee and looked at her for a long, long moment before giving her his mug. His lips twitched self-mockingly. 'Is my tie straight?'

'It looks fine.' Ruth's eyes gleamed blue in the early morning sunshine. 'Does it feel all right?'

'It feels a bit skewiff. I'll just have to hope nobody notices.'

There was annoying intelligence, scary intelligence and a great deal of boring intelligence. Every now and then there was intelligence that made Ruth's heart sink like an aircraft carrier's anchor.

'We're obviously following various groups in Northern Ireland,' she began hesitantly as everyone settled themselves in the briefing room.

'The Real, the Fantasy, the Bonkers IRA,' Harry grumbled. 'Not to mention the Loyalist Freedom Karate Movement or whatever it is they call themselves these days.'

Ruth exchanged a speaking glance with Lucas. If there was one person in the world who could name every paramilitary organisation that had ever existed in Ireland it was Harry.

'Yes. Well. One of our colleagues at Holywood has been cultivating an asset and they've just contacted me. Our best encryption and urgent priory.'

'Is it an IRA asset?' Dimitri enquired shrewdly.

'Actually, no. It's the Karate Movement. Or, rather, a group calling themselves the New Ulster Liberation Fighters.'

'Saints preserve us!' Harry snapped. 'And you're going to tell us this is probably worse than the IRA, aren't you?'

'Um, maybe.'

'Get on with it then!'

She clicked on the LCD and began to flick through photographs of various men. 'The New ULF don't really have a clear political strategy, they've just got a list of things they don't like and people they want to kill. Basically, they don't like devolution, or peace for that matter. And they want to kill pretty much anyone with Republican leanings.'

'Well that narrows the field down,' Beth muttered.

'The asset is the girlfriend of a senior member. She's young, beautiful and regularly beaten. She caught the eye of a thug called Daniel Dodds straight out of school and hasn't managed to cut herself off since. Apparently, Daniel is one of those charmers who is so deeply in love that the only way he can express it is with the back of his hand.'

'Dodds essentially leads this little band of psychos, doesn't he?' said Harry.

'Yep. And he's excited. There's a trawler coming into County Antrim with something very illegal on it. The boat was meant for the mainland but turned away at the last minute because the captain got wind of trouble.'

'How did Dodds find out about this?' Dimitri asked.

'The captain of the boat is his brother's wife's brother, Thomas Hart. Usually he just runs a bit of cannabis into the south coast from Morocco but he came across something else this time. Dodds is planning to offer money but steal the cargo and take Hart hostage.'

'Any idea what the cargo is?'

'Some kind of weapon. Enough to make a mess.'

'Christ almighty,' Lucas drawled. 'Didn't one of these groups put a bomb in a primary school recently?'

'Oh, yes,' said Harry. 'Not many of their devices actually work, but their targets are barmy enough to take very seriously. Dimitri, get hold of your maritime chums. Was someone onto Hart? Who? How did Hart find out? Most importantly, what the hell has he got and where's he going to anchor in Antrim?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And stop bloody calling me that. It's Harry or the legend. Beth, you'll help him.'

'Okey-dokey, Harry.'

'I'm going to have to go. I'm overdue a visit to Holywell. Dimitri, you're coming too. Lucas, you're fine running general operations but there's a JIC meeting in two day's time. Ruth, you'll attend in my stead, and you'll act as section head in my absence.'

Lucas smirked. Ruth stared at Harry, appalled. 'You must be joking!'

'Look at my face. Is it jovial?'

It really wasn't.

'Come on, we'll sort out clearances and get some time with the Home Sec later today. At least you'll have one fan on the JIC.'

The Home Secretary stopped short of being avuncular. In return, Ruth managed not to shout at him for attempting to make the whole conversation about them-versus-Harry. She discovered that it helped to remind oneself that one had literally held a gun to someone's head (even if it was loaded with blanks) whereas the Home Secretary only had metaphorical experience. No wonder Harry "I'm not saying how many times, but I've used a variety of methods" Pearce professed himself utterly unbothered by what people thought of him.

'Oh, before you go,' the Home Secretary rumbled, 'James Hackett had a word with me earlier. I think someone might be trying to get to him. Have you met him?'

'Yes,' said Harry.

'He's useful at the moment. Allay his fears, will you?'

'Of course.'

They walked through the corridors of Whitehall shoulder to shoulder. It was all very symbolic, Ruth thought, but symbolic of what?

'I think you should deal with Hackett,' Harry told her. 'I didn't exactly cover myself with glory when I met him.'

'What do you mean?'

'He knows about us. More about the state of us than anyone. Except for Mike, of course.'

'He what? What the hell happened?'

'It was day seven of the dignity demolition and I was a bit, um, open with him.'

'You? Open?'

'You know his girlfriend left him last year?'

'Yes.'

'Because he never thought to propose.'

'Oh, Jesus.'

'I'm afraid I found it funny. Ironic? I'm never quite sure of the strict definition.'

'And you told him so.'

'Mmmhmm.'

'And now I've got to deal with his nose-tapping say-no-more needs while you bugger off to a country where a good portion of the population hates your guts with a passion.'

'I suppose you could put it like that...'

'I'm not using your office,' Ruth declared totally tangentially.

'You'll have to. There are phone calls you'll have to take that require it.'

'Oh, for God's sake! I can't believe you're making me do this.'

'You have the most experience. You already know most of the people you'll have to deal with. I trust you.'

'You trust Lucas!'

'But he's got something on his mind and he's nowhere near ready for Whitehall.'

'Neither am I!'

'We both know that's demonstrably untrue.'

'Will you ever forgive me for speaking directly to the Home Secretary?'

'There's nothing to forgive. But we reap what we sow, Ruth, and if he wants to deal with you then he shall deal with you.'

'You're a git. An absolute arse!'

They had reached the car. Mike stifled a chuckle, opened the door for her and shot her a look of pure adoration. Harry opened his own door, got in, tried to look endearing and succeeded admirably. 'Can you sort out a very quiet flight for Dimitri and me? I think I'd like to be a surprise.'

Ashamed of herself for being so rude, Ruth nodded. 'Of course.'

'Not tonight, though. Tomorrow. Perhaps not massively early tomorrow.'

'Harry, do you really have to go?' hervoice was perilously close to a whine.

He touched his tie knot and sighed. 'Yes, I do. But I can think of one or two reasons to come back again.'

The worst thing of all was that he had an amazing handover document already prepared. Processes mapped out, his contact list, the usual form taken by regularly scheduled meetings, how he prioritised deadlines, the status of all active cases and all cases currently being prepared for court... A thousand and one comments written in a way that screamed, "We are for Ruth! She'll understand!"

It was obvious that the document was one of the things that Harry worked on regularly. All the times she'd left him in his office and gone home, he'd probably been about to update the monster she was now looking at. The monster called If Something Happens to Harry. Or Nobody is Irreplaceable. It made her temporary job seem vastly more doable and she hated it.

While Ruth reluctantly read on, Beth got down to business. Chatting up the chaps at the UK Boarder Agency suited her very well. 'Nobody seems to know anything about a weapon,' she reported. 'Officers were waiting for Hart's boat, expecting about half a tonne of dope, but someone tipped him off. This unit haven't had any similar problems, which makes me think that the intended buyer of this particular cargo was either listening in or paid someone for information.'

'Have a look at the unit's staff and their immediate superiors. We need to know if anyone is liable for paying off or blackmail. They might be able to lead us back to the intended buyer.'

'Will do. I'll give Tariq the search parameters and then I'm off for an early night. Do you want to share a cab home? My treat?'

'Sucking up to the boss?' Ruth enquired with a smile.

'Oh, completely.'

'All right then. I'm going out again, though.'

'Yeah, I thought so.'

Once they were in the cab, Ruth remembered how bad she was at having girlie chats. 'Have you mentioned last night to anyone?'

Beth didn't even pretend not to understand. 'I haven't worked with you long enough to know how much of a risk you're both taking. It didn't seem fair to gossip while that was the case. And you can make me homeless and he can sack me. I suppose you can both sack me now.'

'I suppose we can.' Ruth glanced sideways at Beth. 'To be honest, I don't know how risky it is.'

'But this isn't a new thing, right? You argue like you've been together a while.'

'Not really. Well, not properly. I suppose we've sort of had a thing...'

'Oh, God, I must be totally cramping your style!'

Ruth blushed fiercely. 'Not really,' she said again. 'We haven't got as far as having a style. A routine.'

'If you give me two hour's notice, I can be out. For a night or two, anyway.'

'Thanks. But he's got... he's got a nice house.'

Beth burst out laughing. 'You're finding this really awkward, aren't you?'

'A bit.'

'Then I suppose I shouldn't ask you what he's like in the sack. Or whether he's got a big knob.'

'No! I mean no, thanks. Please don't ask.'

'How big is his house, then?'

'Three bedrooms. Pimlico.'

Beth whistled quietly. 'I'd call that eligible. And he's a KBE. And he's not married. God, you certainly know how to pull!'

On the chauffeured trip back across the river to Harry's nice house, Ruth stared out into the drizzly night and debated whether to entertain him with Beth's opinion. But she was genuinely disarmed by her flatmate's closed-mouthed strategy and decided to repay the favour by staying quiet for the moment.

'You seem a bit distracted,' he commented as they crossed Vauxhall Bridge.

Ruth looked across the car at him and smiled ruefully. 'I've had a busy day.'

'Boss being a pain again?'

'Even worse than usual. And that's saying something.'

Harry tutted sympathetically. 'The silly old bastard doesn't know how lucky he is.'

'Too right he doesn't. Thinks he can just leave me to run things while he goes off on a bit of a jolly!'

'Perhaps we should talk about something other than work. Are you hungry?'

'I think I am. I didn't really have lunch.'

'I need to exercise, eat and also pack. Is that order of proceedings bearable for you?'

Ruth nodded. 'If you let me cook. And scoff some of your crisps in the meantime. What exercise do you do?'

'Not a lot. I'll show you when we get back.'

She hadn't realised that there was a rudimentary gym in Harry's basement. A complicated free-weights machine with cable pulls and worn-looking handles stood in one corner, an exercise bike in another. Most of the space was dedicated to a heavy punch bag that dangled from an enormous hook screwed into the ceiling. Surprisingly, the room didn't smell too bad.

'I can't run any more,' Harry explained. 'So I don't do enough to stay thin.'

'But you box?'

'A few times a week. Just enough to maintain the reflexes. I mess around a bit with that confounded machine too. I was on it every day after getting shot in the shoulder and I don't think I'll ever forgive it.'

'I always wondered about that. About the physio and stuff. But I never had the courage to ask.'

'I probably would have told you to fuck off if you'd tried. I'm the man wearing a suit while the others run around in leather jackets. Once upon a time I was bloody fit. Now I need a knee replacement.'

'Really?'

Harry pulled a face. 'Three months of putting my feet up. I think I'll hold on for now.'

She shrugged. Automatically hiding a wave of concern at the thought of Harry in pain. Harry in hospital. Harry needing looking after. How many times had she managed to convince herself that he was fine on his own? 'Well, I'll leave you to it. There's still some food left over from Mike's Tesco run isn't there?'

'Cottage pie and some veg. If you need to bulk things up there are baked beans in the cupboard.'

'Baked beans and cottage pie?'

He looked slightly embarrassed. 'Army cooking. They used to give us chips with it too, would you believe.'

While the oven warmed up, Ruth nosed through the kitchen with professional thoroughness. The cupboards were fairly bare. Cake tins and casserole dishes looked as if they had been moved into whatever space was handy and never touched again. They probably hadn't been cooked in since Harry's wife left him. He obviously had a soft spot for tinned rice pudding. It was a shock to discover sugar-free Alpen that was mostly eaten and well within its use-by date. Beneath her feet, irregular flurries of thuds and smacks indicated that Harry was possibly a little bit fitter than he'd let on. She decided to take Scarlet for a brisk walk while the pie cooked.

'Come and watch me pack,' he demanded after dinner.

'Is it likely to be more or less interesting than Wednesday night television?'

He pouted at her. 'You need to ask?'

Four pairs of socks, four pairs of boxers, four unironed shirts folded tightly ('something to do if I can't sleep'), two ties rolled into a cylinder, one pair of jeans, one jumper, one t-shirt, one suit-carrier with charcoal wool contents inserted. It was not exactly scintillating stuff.

'Do you want to stay here while I'm away?' Harry asked.

'Oh, no!' Ruth's reply was instinctively diffident. 'I couldn't possibly.'

'I wouldn't offer if that was the case.'

'But…'

'It's not an offer of marriage, you know. Oh! You've had one of those already. I think it's safe to say that you wouldn't be overstepping.'

'Harry…'

He stood the suitcase up on its wheeled end and marched around the bed towards the bit where she was perched. As far as she was concerned, pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt didn't dull the effect very much. He sat down heavily enough to make her bounce slightly.

'I haven't touched you since this morning and despite my very, very best efforts I've been thinking about it roughly once every twenty seconds all day long.'

Ruth was annoyed to feel a tsunami wave of relief. 'I honestly couldn't tell.'

'Good. It means I might possibly be able to wake up next to you in the morning and get through the day without making a complete idiot of myself.'

'Was it really that bad?'

'It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. You were imagining something when we were with the Home Secretary. I saw your eyes get that dreamy look.'

'Oh! I was picturing myself holding a gun to his head.'

Harry let out a shout of laughter. 'If I'd known that, I'd never have been able to stop myself from kissing you.'

She bit her lip and let her heart show. 'Do you have to stop yourself now?'

'No. Thank God. No.'

A little while later, she had manoeuvred him onto his back. 'It was hard for me, too. Not jumping on you. But it always has been.' She sucked his collarbone and then kissed him over and over until she'd learned the curve of his belly with her lips. The shape of his thighs and the texture of the hair on his shins. 'I have a surplus of kisses that were meant for you that I've built up over the years.'

Harry lifted his head off the pillow, panting a bit as he squinted at her. She took him in hand, revelling in the ineloquence of his reaction and the downright lasciviousness of her own. She practically scrambled back up the bed in her haste to straddle him.

Afterwards, it was abundantly clear that Harry was knackered. Ruth curled up against him with her head resting in the crook of his un-shot shoulder and his fingers walking unsteadily across the skin of her back. It rated very highly on her secret chart of blissful moments.

'I'm not going to stay here,' she told him. 'Because I don't think I can bear being here if you're not.'

Notes:

1. MI5 have an office in N. Ireland that was the target of a bomb attack quite recently. I don't know what it is generally known as but it is located in Holywell.

2. Harry obviously moved house after getting his briefcase nicked by a teenager. In series 4 episode 9 (the one with the bus) Victoria Tower, at the southern end of the Palace of Westminster, looms above Harry's street, indicating a location in Westminster, hideously close to Milbank! The idea might have been to suggest that Harry lives just round the corner from Thames House (lives for work). Purely for the sake of Ruth's sanity I've put Harry in Pimlico, which is still within easy walk-to-work distance. Either way, Harry's house would be worth a million plus but Scarlet probably doesn't have much of a garden. The question is, does he own or rent? Bet Beth finds out and tells Ruth.