Ruth stared in horror at the red stain spreading across Harry's shoulder from where he was shot. Harry looked too, holding his blood covered hand up uselessly.

"It'll be fine," he grunted, ducking his head.

"Let me see," Ruth whispered, sliding closer to him, until he felt her hot breath against his neck.

"You needn't worry. I'll change the dressing when I get home."

"Don't be ridiculous. You need someone to help you. You might've pulled a stitch."

"Okay, Ruth," Harry breathed, "Thank you."

His voice was clearly strained, despite his attempts to brush off any solicitations. Difficult man, Ruth thought to herself as she quickly washed her hands and fetched a first aid kit.

She then rearranged her chair so she was sitting faced towards him, her knees touching his. With a look of acute concentration, Ruth pushed Harry's red braces gently down over his shoulders. Harry sucked in a breath. She then began unbuttoning his white shirt, her fingers brushing painstakingly down his chest as she worked Button by button Ruth revealed pale skin. His chest was strong, broad and covered in soft, blonde down. Ruth tried not to think about it.

Harry was able to get his good arm out of the shirt, but she had to help him manoeuvre his bad one. As she lent over him, her hair tickled his chest. Harry watched Ruth's typical intensely concentrated gaze analysing him this time, as his wound was revealed. It is horrible. The gauze is soaked in blood. But it does not fully cover Harry's wound; his whole shoulder is a mangled mess, where the bullet had fragmented and splattered little incisions over his flesh.

"Oh, Harry," Ruth sighed sadly, stroking one of the shrapnel wounds softly.

Harry had seen it in the men's bathroom, earlier. It was ugly. Will always be- the heavy scaring won't go away in time. That said, thirty years in the service have covered his body in similar scars, and adding one more will make no difference, he tells himself.

"It's not pretty, is it?" Harry confessed casually.

"Hmm," Ruth hums in disapproval, "I'll have to change the gauze now. This may hurt."

Harry hissed as the gauze stuck to his wound, feeling like his shoulder is being ripped open again.

"Bloody hell," he joked, "Did you hear Danny say he'd have done it to me, too? The cheek of him."

"Yes," Ruth raised her eyebrows, still heavily concentrating on the wound. Harry wasn't half as hard as he came off on the grid. She suspected he had been more hurt then anyone would think, after Tom, his most trusted foot soldier, had done what he'd done.

"I ought to give him a bloody bollocking."

"There," said Ruth, "That's the worst part done. And it looks like you haven't busted any of your stitches, thank God."

"Oh," sighed Harry, lost in pain.

"I'll just replace the gauze now."

Ruth carefully laid down a fresh covering for the wound, and began bandaging him back up again.

"There, there" she said afterwards, stroking his sternum absent mindfully, as if she was soothing a wounded beast.

"Mmm. Thank you, Ruth," said Harry, enjoying her gentle strokes.

Then Ruth noticed another livid red burn mark below where she was stroking. The burn extended from the top right side of his chest, down to his side, and disappearing at his waistband.

"God, Harry!" Ruth exclaimed, "What happened?"

Harry looked at Ruth to see her gazing at him in disgust. It hurt more then he'd ever admit, but he supposed it was to be expected.

"Northern Ireland. Many years ago," Harry grunted, thinking of Bill and of shame.

"It looks awful," Ruth said unthinkingly.

"Yes, well. I can't say I've never heard that before," Harry sardonically attempted to joke. But it came out weak even to him.

Ruth looked up quickly, realising Harry had taken her unthinking remark the wrong way.

"No, Harry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant… I'm sorry. It must have been…"

Ruth clumsily tried to express what she meant. Harry being tortured… God, the thought of what he must have been through. And she'd never known. But anything she could think to say would just sound trite.

So instead Ruth just started stroking down across his burnt flesh in the same soothing way as she had been doing before. She heard Harry gasp at first contact, but she continued. He breathed in harshly when she reached his mangled right nipple. Ruth kept touching him. He inhaled her perfume- heady, sensual. When she reached his waistband, Harry could not help it. He groaned deeply.

Ruth froze, and met Harry's eyes again. This time, they are heavy lidded, filled with arousal. His mouth was hanging open, panting. And then his gaze dropped to her lips, paused, and then dropped again to her chest.

Ruth followed his gaze and saw that the tops of her breasts were exposed as she leant towards him by her brief pyjama top. She then couldn't help but slide her gaze to his trousers, where his arousal was tented impressively.

She gasped and removed her hands from his body, looking to the side, to the floor…anywhere but Harry.

Harry tried to make his voice work again. To say something, anything to stop this.

"Ruth, Ruth… I'm sorry… I don't know what…"

"No, no. It was my fault, I shouldn't have… touched you like that, I-" Ruth said vehemently.

"No, it's me, I should have had more self control," Harry flagellated.

Ruth couldn't help but look again. His erection hasn't gone away.

"I'll just…" she said gesturing anywhere but him, "So you can… calm down."

Harry watched helplessly as Ruth all but ran out of the room. He's frightened her. Again. And after she's been so kind to him. Took him in, fed him, healed his wound. But it had shocked him, it had. No, not shock, maybe… Something else. Because no woman had ever touched him like that, not there. It disgusted them, sometimes. The burns. At the very least, in bed, they ignored it. But Harry still had sensation there. And God, when she'd touched him, so softly…

Not now. He had to shake himself out of it. For Ruth's sake.

Harry slowly calmed his body down. He thought about putting back on his shirt, but didn't think he could manage with his left arm still aching.

"Ruth," Harry called.

He found her in her living room, sitting awkwardly on her lounge, her feet tucked beneath her. She looked uncomfortable.

"Ruth," Harry began more eloquently this time, switching back into Section Head mode. "I am sorry, I would never mean to make you uncomfortable. I just couldn't help it, it's been…"

"Awhile since you had sex?" Ruth filled in.

"What? No!" Harry exclaimed, upset that Ruth had come to that flattering conclusion.

Ruth didn't flatter herself to think it was personal. Not after what she had overheard Harry say that night at the Christmas party. Plain, he'd called her. Ruth hated to admit it, but his words had been running rather pathetically around in her head quite a bit in the time since. In fact, whenever Harry said something charming to her, as he was wont to do sometimes, flirt that he was, those words came up to the blunt the pleasure.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. If anything, I was rather impressed that you could, well, manage it, when you've just had such a serious operation," Ruth continued calmly.

"No!" he said quickly. The idea that she was impressed by his… well, that was something that couldn't bear thinking about just now that he'd finally got his body under control.

"Really, Harry I won't think less of you just because…"

Harry shook his head. He needed to explain himself better."

"It's not that, it's just… People… women don't usually touch… that." His voice broke on the last syllable.

"Oh," realised Ruth, filled with sadness at the thought of what was being inferred.

"At any rate," Harry said bravely, brushing her concern, and his weakness away, "I really am sorry if I've scared you. I'd never want to do that. And you've been so kind, Ruth, stitching me back together."

"It's okay," Ruth said sincerely. But she was still gaping at him wide eyed.

"I should leave," Harry said briskly.

"Of course," Ruth nodded.

Harry turned to walk away. This sudden motion made him dizzy.

Ruth rushed to his side, and helped prop him up, silently walking him towards the door.

"Do you need me to call your driver?" she asked quietly, aware of his embarrassment.

"Actually, I drove myself."

"What? Harry!" Ruth shrieked, "You drive yourself here one handed. God, you stupid man!"

"Steady on."

"Well, you aren't driving yourself back home life this. I'll get my keys."

"No, Ruth, it's the middle of the night, and I've already put you out plenty," Harry said forcefully.

"I insist."

"No."

"Harry, I am driving you home!"

"You're not even dressed, for Christ sake woman!"

"Well, stay here then. I've a guest bedroom made up," said Ruth.

"No way. That is completely inappropriate, after I've just…"

"After you've what? It was just an erection, Harry."

"Ruth!" Harry gawped, scandalised at the directness of his usually quiet, gentle analyst.

"Oh, come on Harry. We both need to sleep. I'll drag you up if I have to."

"Has anyone ever told you you're quite determined, Ruth?"

"Please, Harry," Ruth titled her head seriously, "You shouldn't be alone a day after you've just been shot. We both know you should be in hospital. What is you need someone to change the dressing again tomorrow morning?"

She was right, Harry conceded. And it felt awfully good to have her worrying about him, truth be told. Might feel even better come next morning. To see her over breakfast.

"If you're sure, then."

"Of course I am, Harry," Ruth led him upstairs. "I'd only worry if you didn't, you see. So you're doing me a favour, really."

Harry scoffed at Ruth's attempt at persuasion.

"Don't be so stubborn, Harry."

"I'm stubborn!" Harry teased.

"Yes, you are," Ruth smiled back. "Seriously, Harry, we're friends, aren't we?"

"I…"

Harry didn't know what to say. He wasn't exactly the type to be just friends with a woman. If they'd have been close enough to be friends, then they were also close enough to consider sleeping with, as he was attracted to all types, of women, really. After those affairs went sour, there wasn't much room for friendship, was there? And after he'd sworn not to be such a cad with them, he'd tried to avoid meaningless temptation altogether. There were some women on the grid he felt rather fatherly too, he supposed, but that really wasn't the same thing.

"You were a friend to me, when I needed one," said Ruth soberly, referencing that terrible night. "So let me be one to you, now."

A lump appeared in Harry's throat. Such brazen kindness and sincerity covered her face. He tried to deflect the feeling with a bad joke.

"You're just soft, Miss Evershed. I see you around the office, looking after all the lost things."

Ruth hummed, guiding Harry into her guest bedroom.

"The sheets are fresh," she said, turning up the covers for him, "And the bathroom's at the end of the hall. I'm just next door, if you need me."

"Yes. I'll be fine," Harry smiled.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ruth."

As Harry lay in the dark later that night, his thought came back to that kind, beautiful look on her face she had had as she said what she said. He didn't know what he'd done to get her as a friend, but he was beginning to suspect that friendship would not be enough for him. Harry tried to remind himself that she was way too good for him; to young, too kind, to principled. And if Ruth knew what he was really like, then she would never even touch him with a ten-foot pole.

Yes, he told himself, better to have herself in his life as a friend, then suffer the inevitable destruction that any attempt at seducing her would bring.

Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delay. I have been suffering from terrible writers block which I think I am finally getting over. This story will definitely be finished. Please review, I would love to hear what you would think.