"Where's Ruth?" Harry barked as he strode onto The Grid.

"She went home ten minutes ago," answered one of the junior analysts.

Harry couldn't believe it. She'd actually listened to him for once. He'd been expecting a fight.

"And the transcript?" Harry continued briskly.

"On your desk," he answered.

"I'm not to be disturbed until Mr Mace gets here."

Harry threw himself angrily into his office. The transcripts sat tidily on his desk, but attached atop was a post-it note with Ruth's beautiful handwriting.

"Harry," it read, "Call me after. I need to know."

Harry scrunched it up quickly before Mace entered.

"Where is she?" Mace demanded.

"Oliver. I think you'd better sit down," Harry said coldly, pushing the transcript in front of him.

Mace paused.

"What is this?" he asked cautiously.

"A transcript of Carmen Joyce confessing to setting up Tom Quinn," Harry continued, "I think you'll find my department completely exonerated. Carmen Joyce, by the way, committed suicide before we could take her in. I couldn't stop her."

"Pity," Mace snarled.

"Oliver. A whiskey, perhaps," Harry said, pouring them both a generous measure.

Mace nodded dourly before accepting his glass.

Some time later, Harry found himself driving over to Ruth's home. He had gotten Mace to agree to turn in his co-conspirators the next morning, and he had extracted several more smug promises regarding Ruth, but had been forced to enter into an alliance with the worm. Harry was angry, frustrated, and still drowning in guilt from the death of the women, Joyce, whose death he had coldly used against Mace, and which he ultimately held himself responsible for.

What's more, he couldn't get that dream from the previous night out of his head. His dream of Ruth.

Perhaps he was making this more complicated then it needs be. She was attracted to him. He was attracted to her. Was it so wrong to seduce her?

It would do them both good, he thought. A little stress relief. Harry needed to get rid of this pent up tension, and he was sure she was stressed about this business too. She had said they were friends. What was a little sex between friends?

And maybe he would finally be able to stop fixating on her.

Harry knocked on her door. There she was, big, serious eyes, motioning him in.

"Harry," she breathed solemnly.

He couldn't stand this obsession any longer. He would do it. He would seduce her, and get it over with.

"Ruth," he forced a charming smile onto his face as he stepped through the threshold, holding her gaze a little too long, leaning in a little too close.

She flinched at him in surprise, and took a step back, incredulity flashing briefly upon her face before she stifled it.

Perhaps he shouldn't do this, after all. He knew he had a tendency to intimidate her. Best to just leave it.

"Shall we," he nodded towards her kitchen, placing a leading hand against her back.

"The lounge, I think. I've just got the heating on," she recovered, dipping her head a little.

"I must say," he began as she led him to her lounge room, "You shocked me half to death, actually listening to me for once, when I told you to leave the grid."

"I always listen to you, Harry," Ruth smiled over her shoulder, "Just don't always agree."

"Still. I was completely expecting to find you sat still at your desk, ready to give me a bullocking for hanging up on you."

"The bullocking can wait."

Harry chuckled.

"In that case, I wouldn't mind a drink?"

"Wine okay?" Ruth asked walking towards the kitchen.

"Absolutely," Harry retorted, watching her hips sway as she left.

She came back with two glasses and a bottle of red.

"Now," Ruth said, sitting beside him on the lounge, "How did it go with Mace?"

Harry sighed.

"I've extracted certain… promises out of him. He's agreed to turn the co-conspirators over to me. Tomorrow, at his club. I know, Ruth, it's not ideal. But he's our only link to these higher ups. His freedom is our only bargaining chip."

"I know," Ruth answered, "But… Harry. We've already tried this with him once. Bargaining with him, getting promises. What happened to the tape of…. Him and I…?"

"This is better, Carmen Joyce's confession… It proves Mace's investigation into me and the department were nothing but an unjustified vendetta. If Mace ever tries to move against us again, he will have no leverage, no capital- no sway whatsoever."

"And now Carmen Joyce is dead… there's no chance of him getting to her, making her take it back," Ruth ruminated.

"Yes," Harry said coldly.

They both took a sip of wine.

Her big eyes were sad, pensive. She was still wearing the same red blouse as she had been earlier in the day, when she bounced into his office with so much enthusiasm. All that joy at being able to locate Carmen Joyce. Now gone.

Harry turned away from her and, gazing ahead, began.

"Ruth," he said quietly, "I do… regret… the woman."

"I know," Ruth said, reaching across and squeezing his hand.

Harry's breath caught in his chest.

"It was the only way," he murmured, half to himself.

"You were right to do it," she answered back, voice low and rich.

"Yes."

"But you feel guilty, still."

Harry nodded, then turned to her again, replacing his hand on top of hers so he could stroke her skin with his thumb.

"I've also told him to stay away from you," Harry said seriously as he stared into her eyes. "None of these… comments he's been making."

Ruth smiled sadly.

"Do you think it'll work?"

Harry sighed.

"I hope so, Ruth. But if he doesn't, if it begins again, you must come to me, hmm?" he said, playing with her hand, "So I can do something."

"Yes, Harry," Ruth breathed.

They paused again to take another drink. Harry had to let go of her hand to grasp his wine glass; his bandaged shoulder was still too cumbersome to use properly. Ruth noticed the awkward gesture.

"How is your arm, Harry?" she asked seriously.

"Better."

"Really," Ruth titled her head in disbelief.

"Yes," Harry smiled, "Thanks to someone. It's actually been feeling a lot better all day."

"That's great. Do you need me to change the dressing again?"

"No, thank you. I had the duty doctor do it before I left, actually."

"Good. I'm glad to hear you are taking care of yourself, for a change," Ruth joked.

"Hey now. Enough of the cheek, Miss Evershed," Harry joked back playfully, leaning in slightly, "Have you forgotten who I am?"

She dissolved into a fit of giggles. Harry joined her.

"I'm so relieved about Tom," Ruth sighed more seriously.

Harry found himself feeling angry that she had brought the conversation back to Tom. Which was ridiculous, as he was gladder than anyone that Tom had turned out to be innocent. But he had been enjoying himself with her, and Tom's name had brought him back to his earlier thoughts that day. About the way Ruth looked at Tom- at all powerful men, really.

She had just reminded him that she had no special feelings towards him, really. Which, really, was well and good; he didn't have any special feelings towards her either. Except for the particular way she made his heart thump when she smiled up at him. Or his breath catch when she squeezed his hand.

Or the way she made his guilt just a little easier to bear.

This was driving him mad.

She was driving him mad.

Perhaps better to seduce her after all. He needed to get over this. It was the only way. And she wouldn't mind, by the way she was sitting next to him now. Ruth was leaned into him, thigh against thigh. Yes, Harry thought to himself. He would do this.

He tried to mentally take a step back. Apply some of the old Pearce charm.

"I like your shirt," he said softly, watching Ruth jump in surprise. "You look beautiful in red."

"…Thank you," Ruth said awkwardly.

He leaned in. Grabbed her hand again.

"You should wear it more often," he said as he ran his hand up her arm, until he was clasping her shoulder.

"Oh," Ruth breathed distractedly, as he grasped her, lowered his head to hers. Ghosted his breath against her lips.

Ruth felt her gaze caught in his like she was a dragonfly in a spider's web.

"Yes," he murmured thickly, seconds before their lips met.