Sorry for the delay. I was working so had little time to write. Here's a small in between ish chapter.

Three weeks later.

Ruth found herself dozing, somewhere between waking and sleeping, writhing in the bed sheets. Her mind was filled with Harry, and memories that she'd thought over a hundred times since leaving him. His lips on her skin. The passion and desire in his hazel eyes as he thrust inside her. How wonderful it had felt after so much time spent longing and wanting him.

She realised as she came fully awake that the longing and wanting hadn't ended. It was still going on. Maybe even a little bit worse, as she'd now had a very small taste of what life with Harry could be like. She touched her necklace gently, wondering if her were thinking of her right now.

Then everything happened at once. There was a knock on her door at the same time as her alarm clock went off. Groaning, she got out of bed quickly, switched her alarm off and then covered up so she could answer the door. A delivery man was there with a large box. After debating for a moment whether she should accept delivery, she saw a name on the box. John Standing. A legend she suspected was being used by Harry. After that, she was eager to open it, so she signed with no hesitation.

Once alone, and with the lock on the door, she opened the rather heavy box. After unwrapping it, she found a heavy glass vase with red and white roses, interspersed with cherry blossoms. It looked unusual, but she knew exactly why he'd chosen it. She touched the petals of the rose gently, feeling its delicate softness under her fingertips before opening the card.

Happy Birthday. Thinking of you always, John.

She'd almost forgotten it was her birthday, and now she was distracted by Harry's handwriting. He'd touched this. How he'd manage to send it to her untraced she had no idea, but that wasn't the point. He'd touched this and that meant a great deal to her.

Harry unlocked his front door, disabled the alarm and headed straight to the whisky bottle in his kitchen.

"You have to stop." He turned around in shocked alarm, relaxing slightly when he recognised Malcolm.

"How did you get in?" Harry asked.

"I set your security system," he said simply.

"I change the code every month or so… forget it," Harry said, deciding it didn't matter. "Want a whisky?"

"You need to stop drinking Harry," Malcolm said seriously. "I'm… getting a little concerned. Ever since you came back from seeing Ruth, you're drinking a lot."

"It's not a lot," Harry said, defensively.

"You pour one before midday now," Malcolm said. "In the middle of the work day, and I... I'm worried."

"I didn't know my staff paid attention to what I do in my office."

"Don't do that," Malcolm said, not taking any excuse from him. "I'm not your employee Harry. I'm your friend. And you're diving down a black hole. You're beginning to rely on whisky to get through the day." Harry sighed heavily and closed his eyes briefly. "I would never have told you she was here if I'd have known how you'd have reacted once she'd left."

"No, I needed to know," Harry said quietly. "I needed to see her."

"What would she say if she could see how much you were drinking?"

Harry paused, considering for a moment. Then he realised that she wouldn't say anything at all, because if Ruth were here with him, he wouldn't be relying on the whisky to make it through the day. For the first time he realised how much he was drinking throughout the working day, and how much he was wallowing in his misery. He sighed, feeling all of the fight go out of him and he collapsed onto a chair. "I miss her," Harry said. "I miss her so much. I just… I need to see her."

"I am doing my best," he said. "To clear her. You need to speak to Towers. He'll be able to "fix" it quicker than I can."

"I know," Harry said. He hadn't yet talked to the Home Secretary because he needed to organise his thoughts, what to say and what to hold back. He wasn't going to talk to Towers unprepared on something as important as this. "I will, on Monday. When I've had time to… organise my mind."

"And ease off of the whisky," Malcolm said quietly. "For her, if no one else."

"Okay," Harry said, agreeing reluctantly. He enjoyed the drink and it seemed as if it was his only comfort these days. His friend nodded, then left the house and Harry sighed. He poured himself a whisky, but only enough to cover the bottom of the glass. Because Malcolm was right. He was drowning his sorrows in drink. "God, I miss you," he murmured to the darkness of the night.

More soon, and thanks for the reviews so far.