Early the next morning – Wednesday, 2nd November

She wakes to the sound of waves crashing on the shore and the cry of sea gulls in the air. It's a wonderfully relaxing and comforting sound, reminding her of summer holidays spent along the coast of Devon and Cornwall, running on the beach, building castles in the sand, rock-pooling with her dad, and eating ninety-nines. She feels movement beside her and a warm hand comes to rest on her hip, his thumb sliding softly over the sensitive skin of her stomach as he murmurs her name, his voice still thick from sleep.

"Hmmmmm..." she hums, smiling in delight when she realises he's beside her and the memories of last night come flooding back. She opens her eyes and finds him watching her, a small smile gracing his lips, his gaze warm and gentle.

"Good morning," he whispers. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she replies, suddenly remembering how unusual that is. It's the best night's sleep she's had in a very long time. "I did sleep well," she smiles. "Did you?"

"Like a baby," he grins, and she feels her heart warm at the joy that is evident in his gaze.

"Why do people say that?" she wonders out loud. "Babies don't sleep well at all. They keep their parents up half the night at least."

"I've no idea," he confesses, looking rather amused by her random musings.

She smiles and reaches forward to touch him, running two fingers of her left hand along his jaw to his chin. "Good morning, my lover," she says, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her fingertips and the way his eyes darken at her words. "It's nice to finally wake up beside you... but you really didn't need to kidnap me whilst I slept and take me to the seaside for that." He chuckles and turns towards the bedside table, but she stops him, saying, "No, don't turn it off. I like it. It makes me think of warm, carefree holidays by the sea."

So he turns back and smiles as he confesses, "Me too. That's why I chose it. It's an altogether more pleasant way to wake up than the shrill ring of the alarm."

"And you like a bit of luxury," she smiles.

"What gave me away?" he asks, his eyes twinkling at her.

"Well," she replies, lifting her head and turning onto her stomach so that she's looking down on him as she supports her weight on her forearms, "there's your car, for one, your wonderful shower that I had the pleasure of using last night, your bath that I hope to try sometime very soon, and of course, this bed. You know they have a name for a bed like this in Russia. It's called a сексодром... you know, a combination of the words sex and airport."

He chuckles, murmuring softly, "It never ceases to amaze me how much information you carry around in that brilliant mind of yours, Ruth. Where on earth did you hear that?"

"Mark Simmons," she replies, "a friend of mine from GCHQ. He's one of the Russian specialists there." There's something queer in his eyes as she says it and it takes her a moment to place the look and to realise what it means. She smiles, delighting in the realisation that he's jealous. "What?" she asks innocently, wondering if he'll admit what he's feeling.

"Is there any particular reason why you were discussing what the Russians call a large bed?" he asks, trying to sound unconcerned, but failing.

"Jason Parsons," she smiles, "one of the mathematicians, was showing us a picture of a fancy, oak bed he'd ordered – he was always showing off like that – and Mark told him that it was nice but it was no сексодром. Needless to say, Jason was not impressed, but it shut him up most effectively, which is what the rest of us wanted." She reaches down to kiss him, pressing her lips to his softly before pulling back to whisper against them, "You needn't be jealous, Harry. He's just a good friend. He was never my lover."

"But I bet he wanted to be," he growls, drawing her against his body and kissing her soundly.

"He might have," she smiles when they come up for air, enjoying the feel of him swelling against her stomach as she gazes into his passion filled eyes. "But he can't have me," she adds softly.

"No, he can't," he murmurs, rolling her underneath him, "because you're mine."

"Yours?! That's a bit... chauvinistic, don't you think?" she frowns up at him, despite the warmth she feels spreading over her heart at his words.

"No," he replies, huskily, "because I'm yours too, Ruth. All yours." And nothing more is said for some time after that.