When Harry rings, she's curled up on the settee dressed in her warmest pyjamas and wrapped in a fleecy blanket, her second glass of wine in her hand as she watches the Red Shoes. She puts down the glass, picks up the phone and brings it to her ear as she turns down the volume of the TV and murmurs with a smile, "Hello, Harry. How did it go? Is the Wicked Witch of Whitehall still breathing?"
"Only just," he replies with a chuckle, "and she has you to thank for it."
"Shame she doesn't know it," she grins. "She might be a bit nicer to me if she did."
"I doubt it," he murmurs. "Juliet Shaw doesn't do nice. I don't think she even knows the meaning of the word."
"Pity," she sighs, "though I suppose it would feel rather strange to have her be civil. Was she always like this?"
"Yes," he replies, "though she used to be a little less confrontational and aggressive as I recall." There's a pause during which she suspects they're both thinking the same thing about Juliet and why she might have been less confrontational and aggressive towards Harry in the past.
"I imagine she had to be a little more... diplomatic as a more junior officer," she says carefully, trying to push aside the images of Juliet seducing Harry that fill her mind.
"Yes," he agrees and pauses for a moment before adding cautiously, "though she was always rather ruthless. She'll stop at nothing to get what she wants and that makes her very dangerous."
"And what is it she wants, Harry?" she asks uncertainly, wondering if he's trying to warn her about something and dreading to think what it might be.
"I don't know," he confesses with a sigh. Then in a moment of surprising insight that alarms her a little, he adds, "Though it's not me if that's what's worrying you... at least, not in the biblical sense."
She's not quite sure how to reply to that because she has been worrying about it, about what would happen if Juliet tried to seduce him, or worse, if Harry was still... No, no, she tells herself sternly, he's only interested in her now - no one else, and least of all someone as vile as Juliet Shaw. He's not the same man he used to be. It would be like her wanting to sleep with... with... Gary Hicks! It would just never happen. Ever. They've both changed too much; they're different people. Just like Juliet and Harry. What drew them together all those years ago just isn't there any more. Then realising that she's been silent for several moments, she says quickly, "Thanks for dinner, Harry," hoping to change the subject. "It was a lovely surprise."
"Did it arrive in time?" he asks, his voice sounding more relaxed now and she's sure he's equally relieved by the shift in their conversation. "I was worried it might arrive after you'd eaten."
"No, it got here before I'd thought about getting myself some food," she smiles, "and it was delicious. You didn't have to do that, you know."
"But I wanted to, Ruth," he murmurs, his voice soft and intimate.
"Thank you," she whispers, feeling her heart begin to race. Then she adds playfully, "But don't think this gets you off the hook, Harry Pearce. You promised to cook for me, and I intend to make sure you keep that promise."
"Not scared I might poison you with my less than stellar culinary skills then, Ruth?" he chuckles, joining in the playful banter.
"Not at all, Harry," she smiles. "I intend to have you taste everything first." He begins to laugh hard at that, his delightful Muttley laugh making her heart ache for him. "You know, I couldn't manage all the food," she murmurs uncertainly after a beat. "There's still a lot left over if... if you'd like to come over."
"Open your front door, Ruth," he replies huskily and she knows he's standing right outside it.
Quickly, she throws off the blanket and scrambles to her feet, her heart beating fast with excitement as she dashes to the front door and flings it open. "Hello," she smiles as she lowers the phone and presses the end call button. "Come in."
He's smiling broadly as he steps through her front door and watches her close and lock it, but as she turns to face him once more, his face is serious and his gaze intense as he moves quickly forward and captures her lips in a warm, impatient kiss, a kiss that tells her that he's missed her very much.
"I've wanted to do that all day," he murmurs when he pulls back. She smiles up at him as their gazes hold for a moment before he begins to shrug off his coat and turns to hang it up.
"It's very presumptuous of you, Harry," she teases lightly while she watches him hang it on the hook beside hers, "waiting by my front door like that. I might not have wanted to let you in."
"Then I would have turned around and gone home," he shrugs as he turns back to face her. "I like to be prepared. It would have been exceedingly frustrating and painful to find myself half way across London if I'd gone home and you'd asked me over tonight... as you did."
"That's true," she agrees as he moves closer again. "And the shoes, Harry," she demands, causing him to pause and look down at his feet. "You're entirely too tall to kiss comfortably with them on." She's only wearing her warm fluffy socks, having forgotten her slippers in the living room in her haste to let him in, and the difference in their height, and size, is more noticeable than ever.
He smiles, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes as he lifts them to hers and replies, "I don't know, Ruth, my feet are cold. How many kisses are we talking about here?"
"Hmmm," she hums, pretending to think about it, adoring this playful side of Harry. "One or two?" she says innocently.
"Only that?" he asks, pouting adorably.
"Why?" she queries. "How many were you hoping for?"
"For the trouble of taking off my shoes?" he murmurs. "Oh, at least fifty."
"Fifty?!" she exclaims in mock outrage. "You must be joking. For fifty, your tie, suit, shirt and pants will have to go too."
He laughs and moves closer, resting his hands on her hips as he whispers, "Deal... but what about my socks?"
"You can keep them on if you like," she smiles, "so your feet aren't cold."
"That's very generous of you," he grins, leaning towards her, his eyes hungrily dropping to her lips.
"Not so fast, Harry," she objects, ducking away and slipping round him, moving further into the house. "Shoes first please."
"Fine," he sighs as he reaches down to undo his laces. "How many are the shoes worth exactly?"
"Eight," she smiles. "Eight each for the shoes, tie, jacket, shirt, and trousers. Your pants are worth ten."
"And here I was thinking that you invited me here to feed me," he grumbles as he kicks his shoes aside and advances towards her in his silent, sock covered feet.
"I did," she agrees, "but then you wanted kisses instead of food." Then she smiles coyly and turns away, walking into the living room where the gas fire is still burning merrily in the grate, her heart fluttering with pleasure.
She's half way to the sofa when he catches up with her, reaching a hand out to grasp her elbow and turn her to face him. "A man can live for a hundred years on your kisses alone, Ruth," he murmurs huskily as he leans in.
"God, Harry," she whispers breathlessly as his face looms close to hers, one of his hands slipping behind her head as his other arm snakes around her waist, trapping her against him. "You never told me you were a bloody poet!"
"I'm not," he replies huskily and dips his head down, pausing just millimetres from her lips to whisper softly, "It's you; you must be my Muse, Miss Ruth Evershed."
"Ms," she objects, her voice escaping in a rush of air, her heart beating wildly.
He pauses, lifting his head a little to see her better, his eyes holding hers and his lips curling in a smirk. "Ms Evershed," he murmurs. "Happy now?"
"Yes," she breathes, and then his lips take hers in a fierce kiss, all tenderness gone in an onslaught of passion. She moans and pulls him closer, her hands gripping this suit jacket as her lips part and she allows him to delve deeply into her mouth, her tongue coming forward to rub against his, the clash of their passions feeding their desire until they're both ready to explode with need.
"God, Ruth," he gasps when the need for air forces them apart, "you make me burn. I've never met anyone like you. You're intoxicating and addictive. I just can't get enough of you." He leans in for another kiss, but almost as soon as their lips meet, his stomach rumbles loudly, making her smile.
"Stop smiling, Ruth," he complains, against her mouth. "I'm not done kissing you."
She's about to reply when his stomach growls this time, a sound ten times louder than before, and she can't help laughing. Even he's smiling now as he pulls back, a sheepish grin spreading across his lips as he murmurs an apology.
"Foiled by your own stomach, Harry," she laughs. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Lunch time, I think," he answers.
"I guess I'd better feed you first after all, Harry, before you pass out on me," she smiles, turning towards the kitchen.
"I never pass out, Ruth," he replies, sounding a little indignant, presumably baulking at the idea of being thought weak in any way, and it makes her smile. It must be so hard to be a man, having to constantly deal with this ridiculous male pride they all seem to have, she thinks as she moves over to the fridge and gets out the food, placing it on the kitchen counter before reaching to open the cupboard above her to get him a plate. He beats her to it, however, opening the cabinet and pulling one out for her, placing it gently on the counter next to the food. "Thanks," she smiles, raising her eyes to his.
"Are you having some too?" he asks softly, his proximity and gentle gaze making her heart beat fast again.
She shakes her head no and then promptly tells him to take a seat. "Rest, Harry," she murmurs. "You've only just finished work whereas I've been lying on the sofa for the past hour. I'll take care of it." She expects him to argue, but much to her surprise, he doesn't, taking a seat and watching her as she sets the table, pours him a glass of wine, serves his food, and warms it up while she retrieves her own glass from the other room.
"Here you go," she says as she carefully puts down the hot plate in front of him before pulling the oven glove off and taking a seat across from him.
"Thank you," he smiles and she can tell that he's really enjoying this, having her take care of him. She watches him in silence as he eagerly takes a few mouthfuls of food and smiles when he comments on how good it is. She can't take credit for the meal, of course, but it makes her realise that she'd like to cook for him sometime, imagining the pleasure she'd receive from taking care of him and from his appreciation. She's not a bad cook, but she rarely has the time or inclination to make something when she's on her own. But she's not on her own any more, now she has Harry, she thinks dreamily.
"I see you were watching your favourite film," he murmurs after a while, taking a sip of wine, clearly having satisfied his hunger enough to give her some of his attention once more.
"Yes," she nods, smiling when she remembers the album inspired by the film that he'd given her for her birthday. "You never did tell me how you found that out."
"It's a secret," he replies with a wink and a mischievous smirk before taking another bite of food.
"Which is code for Sam told you," she states and she feels her good humour abruptly slip away.
He lifts his eyes to hers at that and he suddenly looks wary, clearly having picked up on the slightly accusing tone in her voice. He takes another sip of wine, no doubt buying himself some time to consider his response. "I wanted to get you something... special," he confesses, giving her an apologetic look.
"You could have asked me," she counters as the feelings she's kept buried for several months now resurface and she again experiences the acute sense of betrayal and embarrassment she'd felt all those months ago.
"Ruth," he sighs, "you have a brain the size of England. You'd have figured out what I was up to in about ten seconds, if that, and I wanted it to be a surprise. That's why I asked Sam. If you'd wanted to get me something special, something unique, wouldn't you have picked the brains of someone close to me who might have more information to go on?"
She sighs, nodding her head before reaching for her glass and taking a sip of wine, knowing that he's right and trying to push aside her treacherous thoughts and feelings. "You're right," she concedes, but as the seconds tick by and she watches him eating, she realises that she's been presented with the perfect opportunity to talk about what happened and to try to understand why, so that, hopefully, she can put the whole thing behind her once and for all. "I guess it seems... wrong," she ventures carefully, trying to find the right words, "because of the way you... used her to spy on me back in January... and the way you manipulated her and me. You used our friendship to encourage me to break the rules, to pursue something that I would never have done under normal circumstances." She's surprised by how strong her feelings are now that she's began talking about it, and she has to take a deep breath to calm herself before she can continue, not wanting to put him on the defensive and turn this into an argument. She lifts her eyes to his and adds softly, "Why, Harry? I need to understand." He drops his gaze to his plate, raising his right hand and massaging his forehead, hiding his eyes from her, and she can tell that he's sorry and ashamed, deeply ashamed of what he did.
"I'm sorry, Ruth," he whispers after a few moments, lifting pained, apologetic eyes to hers. "There's no excuse. I know there's no excuse... I let everything get out of hand. I told myself all sorts of stories about how, as your boss, I needed to know how far you'd go, I needed to test you, and God knows what other bullshit, but really... I was jealous, pure and simple. And I can be quite irrational when I'm jealous. I know that about myself. I'm sorry I put you, and Sam, through that. Truly sorry."
She can tell that he means it and she knows how much it must have cost him to admit his mistake and his irrational behaviour. She smiles at him and reaches for his hand across the table, squeezing it as she murmurs, "Apology accepted."
He smiles and nods his head, squeezing her hand in return as he whispers, "Thank you, Ruth."
"And you needn't be jealous, Harry," she adds softly. "It was just a short lived... infatuation. I was lonely and he seemed quite lovely, intelligent, successful, kind, and he sang. But I wouldn't have done anything about it if Sam and Malcolm hadn't encouraged me... And besides, you're lovelier by far."
"That's good," he smiles, "because there's something you need to know about me, Ruth."
"What's that?" she asks in surprise and a little alarm.
He leans towards her and whispers, "I hate to lose."
She laughs in relief as he pulls back smiling and takes another bite of his food, washing it down with more wine. "I think anyone who's ever met you probably knows that, Harry," she grins.
Note: Harry's present to Ruth on her birthday is mentioned in Harry's Diary, as is the fact that he found out (subtly) from Sam about Ruth's favourite film. He also gave her a book on cats.