A/N: Wow! Thank you all for your enthusiasm and kind reviews. I'm enjoying writing this fic very much and it's always nice to know that you're enjoying reading it too. Jumping ahead in time a little now. Cheers, S.C.

Tuesday, 26th August 2003 – The Grid

He suspects his night with Ruth will stay with him for a long time, perhaps become one of the most memorable of his lifetime. Three months on and he's still thinking about it, still wishing, on some level, for a repeat performance though he knows it cannot happen. The stars had aligned that night, but that sort of things doesn't happen often. If he pursued her now, all could be lost for both of them and that is something he simply cannot allow. He must be content with one night of spectacular sex and no more between them – no mean feat considering the sexual encounters he's had since have all paled into insignificance by comparison.

Luckily, Ruth had seemed fine about the whole thing, cheerful even, when she'd appeared on the newly repaired Grid again, for which he'd been really very relieved and grateful. Watching Tom deal with his mental ex-girlfriend during this op has highlighted for him how terribly things could have gone wrong with Ruth – or any other woman, for that matter – and reminded him why he remains stubbornly single. Ultimately, it's not worth the hassle or the risk and he doesn't need it. He's perfectly content to live on his own, sharing his life with his little dog and seeking out human contact whenever he feels he needs it.

He's not really cut out for intimacy, as he sees it. He's seen too much, done too much, suffered too many betrayals. Besides, the secretive lifestyle he leads could never support it and, without it, no relationship can survive for long. He has yet to meet a woman who does not desire closeness and openness from him at some point in a liaison, and though he's tried, in the past, to make it work, he no longer has the will and desire for it. Far better to have his home to himself – a sanctuary where he can relax and be himself without any need to spare a thought for another person. His work is challenging and keeps his mind sharp and engaged, he has his club for conversations with his peers, and the functions he's required to attend are the perfect venue to make contact with members of the opposite sex and seduce them. He has a small flat, a shag pad, that he uses for such occasions, that he owns under an alias and pays someone to clean once a week, and which he keeps well stocked with drinks and snacks for when the opportunity arises. He never brings women home with him – that would be too dangerous and too much of an intrusion into his privacy, and besides, as the most important female in his life, he rather thinks Scarlet might disapprove of such a practice.

He smiles at the thought only to see Ruth frown at him, causing him to hastily relax his features and look away. He's been watching her without realising it again. Bloody woman. It must be that top she's wearing today that's stirred his blood so unexpectedly. The colour of it, the way it tapers down to a V just between her breasts, her pendant dangling just below, sometimes falling into the crevice, making her lift it out again, so distracting, tantalising, so tempting. He would never have guessed that such a frilly, bohemian top could test his resolve, his self-control so completely. It must be the reddish colour – just the right shade to draw attention and lead to temptation, yet not quite the right colour to match her lips that are, today, devoid of lipstick. For some odd reason, this bothers him and he's become somewhat fixated on it, though he knows it's quite ridiculous. He wants to go over there and tell her to paint them the same colour as her blouse or go change it, to stop distracting him and tormenting him or... or...

Or what?

He covers his eyes with his hand for a moment, sternly telling himself to pull himself together. What the fuck is the matter with you, Harry?!

No strings. He'd wanted no strings.

Bugger!

Waking up to find him gone with no trace of him left behind – save the barest hint of his cologne lingering on her pillow – had been simultaneously disappointing and a cause of great relief for, though on the one hand she's felt a little used by him, on the other, she'd have felt incredibly awkward and embarrassed to have woken beside him, sober and nude, in the clear light of day, with him, her boss, equally naked beside her. Besides, she'd never expected him to stay really. She knows he gets driven into work each morning, so he'd have had to be back for his driver, and he'd have wanted a shower and change of clothes too, and it's always nicer to sleep in ones own bed when all is said and done, without an audience. It had been a purely physical thing that they'd shared. There'd been no reason to linger longer, no need for closeness or an emotional connection. It wasn't the beginning of something. It's not love. And once she'd found his note and realised he'd not abandoned her without a word like some prostitute, she'd felt a whole lot better about things, guessing that it's not his usual MO, to leave something like that behind. She rather thinks that, as a consummate spy, he'd simply dissolve into the shadows leaving no trace of himself to speak of.

He hadn't signed it or used her name and she rather thinks that was done deliberately too, most likely to avoid anyone being able to link it back to him. It wouldn't surprise her if he'd used his left hand to write it, she'd thought with amused fondness as she'd sipped her tea, staring down at the slip of paper, and when later, she'd thought to look, she'd found no trace of the condom he'd used last night either. Bloody spook. A regular James Bond, aren't you, Harry?

Still, it had been good to know that he'd made an exception for her, had tried to smooth things over, even if the only reason had been that they still need to work together. That part had probably been the hardest – walking onto the Grid that afternoon when it had finally become serviceable once more – and she'd needed to gather all her courage to accomplish it.

She needn't have worried in the end. He'd been busy talking to Tom and she'd been swept up by greetings from others, booting up her computer and finalising the report she'd started the day before, so that, by the time she'd come face to face with him, she'd quite forgotten to be nervous and had simply smiled at him and said hello. She'd spotted the relief in his eyes and the warmth that had infused them afterwards and is ashamed to admit that she'd blushed, dropping her gaze and taking a deep breath before she could lift her eyes to his again, only to find him walking away from her with a murmured greeting of, "Ruth," thrown over his shoulder.

After that first encounter, everything had been fine – well, mostly fine, as long as she managed not to think about it too much and stay focused on her work. After a few days without incident and the way he maintained his professionalism at all times around her, she'd relaxed and allowed her mind to let go of the anxiety of being found out, or having Harry hold what happened between them over her head to manipulate her – something she'd not really believed he'd do, but then again, she'd not believed he'd pretend to be dying either.

And of course, that's not to say that her view of him hasn't shifted, that she's not started to see him more as a man, rather than an untouchable and unattainable Head of Section. And inevitably, the crush she's had on him for a while now has morphed into something else too, something more physical and real – a desire, a lust, a yearning for the pleasure he had delivered so effortlessly. The sex had been too good for a repeat performance not to be tempting, but she'd promised him she wouldn't ask anything more of him and she means to honour that promise, no matter how sorely she is tempted by his hot, three-piece, tailored suits, the provocative way he struts around, exuding strength, power and authority, his seductive hazel eyes alert, calculating, and his sensuous, soft lips pouting, begging to be kissed and savoured. What would he do if she just strode up to him and kissed him, she finds herself wondering far too often now, her imagination invariably conjuring hot, steamy scenes between them that set her insides to aching for him.

But she promised, and she loves her job too much to jeopardise it by shagging the boss and risking him, and others, thinking she's doing it to further her career. She has too much self-respect for that and too strong a sense of justice and self-preservation.

And besides, she still doesn't believe it can lead anywhere for them. Nothing's changed. He's still not looking for a relationship, she's sure, and she still doesn't see him as relationship material. She wants intimacy from the man she's with, and she's sure, Harry can't give her that – he's been a spy too long and he's too far above her in the Service. She doesn't want more mind games when she gets home from work. She wants a kind, gentle man, with a warm, open heart, who thinks the world of her, who really wants her, and with whom, she can build a warm, stable home that anchors her and nurtures her and gives her something to rely on and fight for. She's not at all sure how she'll find this man, but she hasn't yet given up hope that she will, one day.

In the mean time though, she can't help the way the sight of Harry in black tie today set her heart to pounding as she'd stared at him and licked her lips before she'd caught herself and looked away, terrified someone might have noticed. Her hope is that she's not nearly as glamorous for people to believe she'd attract his attention – even if they do pick up on this silly crush/lust she's developed for him – but when he stares at her, like he was a moment ago, a soft smile flirting with his lips, she can't help but worry that people will start to notice. She hates being gossiped about and the thought of what people would think and say about her if they knew she'd slept with Harry is enough to give her nightmares and infuse her with a new strength to stay the hell away from him, and keep her eyes off him too while she's at it.

That is until the end of the day, after everyone's gone home and it's just the two of them left on the Grid from the day crew – something that's starting to happen more and more often lately – and he stealthily approaches her station, his hazel eyes ablaze with want and a quiet sort of desperation, as he softly whispers, "Ruth," and she feels herself surrender to the temptation incarnate that is Harry Pearce.