Their first topic of conversation is work, of course, particularly the operation they've just concluded. He's removed his coat, jacket and tie, and has rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and she finds that she can't take her eyes off him. How could she have even considered letting him go, she wonders as she watches him speak, giving her the highlights of his conversation with Juliet this afternoon. The gentle movement of his sensual lips, the flashes of emotion in his gorgeous eyes, and the way he moves his hands as he speaks have her transfixed, so much so that, when he eventually pauses and looks at her, she has to swiftly drop her gaze to her plate and take a mouthful of food in order to give herself time to grasp the thread of their conversation, so distracted has she become.

"But what if she thinks you're really going to publish it, Harry?" she asks eventually with a worried frown as she realises what it is he's just said. "What if she decides you're as much of a threat as Clive?"

"She won't," he shakes his head confidently.

"How can you be so sure?" she insists worriedly.

"It was Woodring who was behind the decision to kill Clive," he replies. "Juliet wouldn't have done it, not without exhausting every other avenue first, and besides... she knows I wouldn't publish it. She can't be one hundred percent certain, of course, but she knows me well enough to think it highly unlikely that I'll carry out my threat... as long as she doesn't push me too far. It's easier for her to comply with my requests right now than to go after me, and I make a much better ally than Woodring in the long run. She knows all that and, though she'll never admit as much, I suspect she's relieved that I've given her the perfect excuse to get rid of Roy. Clive recruited her, you know."

"I didn't know that," she confesses, feeling a little relieved by this small detail that makes Juliet seem just a little bit more human all of a sudden.

He nods and then adds, "Anyway, there's a fundamental difference between Clive and me. He was retired and dying, so he had nothing to lose by publishing, whereas I'm, fortunately, not in that position just yet."

She watches him take a sip of wine, amazed once again by his confidence, by how unflustered and unfazed he is in the face of danger, wishing that she were more like him and hoping to God that he's right about Juliet. "I hope you're right," she murmurs softly, giving voice to her thoughts. He lifts his eyes to hers then, and as their gazes hold for a moment, he smiles at her gently, his eyes softening into pools of liquid gold. "What happens if she discovers you don't actually have the book? Surely Woodring's men got the original and destroyed it by now?" she asks in an effort to keep the conversation going before she gets completely lost in his eyes.

He smiles enigmatically then and his eyes twinkle at her as he takes another sip of wine before murmuring, "Who says I don't have the book?"

"But..." she objects and then pauses, thinking hard and watching his face as he gives her an innocent look that immediately arouses her suspicions. "How?" she asks and watches him watch her for a few moments longer. There's something in his gaze, a look of encouragement and expectation, and she realises that he's waiting, expecting her to figure it out. And suddenly, she knows the answer. "Clive," she says, watching as his lips curl up in a smile of delighted pleasure and pride. "He sent you a copy?" she asks, feeling as pleased as punch to have worked it out and basking in his approval.

"It arrived this afternoon," he confesses before turning back to his food. She follows his example and returns to eating, finishing up the food on her plate, the pleasure she's feeling making it hard for her to stop smiling.

"What are you going to do with it?" she asks eventually, once she's regained control over her temporary feelings of euphoria and is able to stop looking like the cat that got the cream.

"Keep it safe," he replies, "and one day... Who knows?" She watches him for a few moments in silence as he turns back to his food and polishes off his plate. "That was delicious, Ruth. Thank you," he sighs contentedly as he sets down his cutlery and leans back, lifting his eyes to hers.

"You'd never publish it, Harry," she states, her mind still on the book, "no matter what you told Juliet or Gary this afternoon. You'd never do something like that to the Service. It's not who you are."

"Perhaps," he replies enigmatically, but his eyes are swimming with pleasure as he looks at her, no doubt touched by her faith in him, in the kind of man he is. "But I've been in this job long enough, Ruth, to know better than to ever say never. Sometimes, though rarely I'll grant you, the ends do justify the means... in the world of espionage at least."

"Perhaps," she concedes with a smile, feeling too happy to argue. He holds her gaze for long moments before she feels self-conscious, and dropping her eyes to his plate, she says, "Would you like some more?"

"No, thank you," he shakes his head. "It was delicious, but I couldn't manage another mouthful."

"Not even dessert?" she asks playfully. "I've made a crumble... with custard?"

He groans and closes his eyes for a moment before he opens them again and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. "How did you know I love custard?" he asks as he narrows his eyes at her in mock suspicion.

"A wild guess," she smiles and gets up to clear the table. He gets up too, intent on helping her with the clearing up, but she shakes her head at him and says, "Leave it, Harry. I'll take care of it. Rest."

"I can't let you do all the work and sit around doing nothing," he objects, picking up the two serving dishes that contain the remainder of the food and carrying them over to the counter by the sink.

"Yes, you can," she smiles after she puts down the dirty dishes in the sink and turns to take the serving plates from his hands. "It's the least I can do, Harry," she adds, looking up at him earnestly, "after everything you've done for me. Please. This is my way of saying thank you for being there for me when I needed a friend and for all you've done to protect me."

His eyes search her gaze for a few moments before he murmurs softly, "All right. Just this once, mind, or you'll spoil me."

"I'll jolly well try," she replies with a blush and promptly turns away to put the food in the fridge and get started on the tea and custard. She can feel him standing close behind her for several moments in silence, and she can't help the way her whole body's practically humming with suppressed energy and nerves in anticipation of his next move. Much to her disappointment, however, he simply clears his throat and murmurs something about the bathroom before leaving the room.

When he comes back, he's thoughtful and more distant than before and they eat their dessert mostly in silence. She worries that she's pushed him too far, that he thinks she's trying to force him into a conversation he's not ready to have tonight, as he'd explained at the outset, and when she sees him pick up his mug of tea and drain it, she suddenly knows that he's preparing to leave.

"Thank you, Ruth," he smiles as he sets down the cup. "It was wonderful. I appreciate the thought and the gesture very much."

She nods her acknowledgement, all the while desperately casting around her mind for something to say to keep him here a little while longer. She can't use alcohol as an excuse; he's only had one glass of wine tonight, though she thinks she's had about three at least, and she knows he's been consciously keeping his alcohol intake low so he can drive home tonight. "Thanks for taking care of Fidget," she blurts out eventually, her eyes having alighted on her cat as he slips into the room. "Where did you take him, by the way?"

Harry's eyes also drop to Fidget who's now standing in front of them, looking from one to the other for a few moments in quiet contemplation as if unsure of whom to choose. "Well, I left him here for the first few days and got your sitter, Megan, to come round, but she was going away for a long weekend and it looked like the situation wasn't going to get resolved as fast as I'd hoped, so I... took him home with me."

"You took him to your place?" she asks in wonder, lifting her eyes sharply to his face. He nods, looking a little uncertain of himself all of a sudden and it warms her heart to see it. He looks adorable when he's not quite as confident as usual in situations like this. "But what about Scarlet?" she asks after a beat as Fidget springs onto her lap, having finally decided whom to favour with his company.

"Oh, you know her," he smiles. "She adores company of any sort. When I brought him home, it took her all of three seconds to decide to make friends which, to her, means lick poor Fidget to death. Needless to say, he didn't like that. He scratched her muzzle, poor thing, and she looked so hurt and surprised to be treated in such a way."

"Oh, poor Scarlet," she murmurs in empathy; she loves Harry's dog so much already. "What did you do?"

"I had to keep them apart for a few days," he shrugs. "I had one in the kitchen and the other with me, and then they'd switch places. Scarlet always sleeps in the kitchen anyway as it's warm in there and she can't get into trouble, and Fidget seemed to choose the top of the sideboard in the living room as his spot, so it was fine. He could always escape up there if he needed to. Then last night, Scarlet had fallen asleep by the fire when Fidget came down from the sideboard and just curled himself up between her front paws." He smiles and shakes his head in bewilderment before adding softly, "So I just left them there together when I turned in."

"And they were both alive this morning?" she asks playfully.

"Indeed," he smiles, looking as pleased as she feels that their pets love each other too. "In fact," he smiles ruefully, "you'll never guess where I found them."

"Well," she replies thoughtfully, "knowing Fidget, unless you remembered to close your bedroom door, probably on your bed, or on your face if you were really unlucky."

He nods, his smile broadening as he acknowledges, "Right first time, Ms Evershed. I shouldn't have doubted you. Scarlet was lying on top of the covers, pressed against the back of my legs, and Fidget had curled up on one of the pillows." Then he drops his gaze to his hands as he adds softly, "I suspect he could still smell you on it." And he looks so adorably uncertain of himself again and so absolutely lovable that her heart overflows with emotion and she feels tears spring to her eyes. Say it, she dares herself; just say the words. Three little words. How hard can it be?

"I love you," she whispers softly, so softly that if he hadn't been anxiously waiting for her response he might have missed it. He doesn't miss it, however. Far from it. And when he lifts his eyes to look at her, there is the same expression of surprise and wonder in them as she'd seen before, when she'd kissed his cheek on the Grid. She blushes and drops her gaze to her hands that are nervously stroking Fidget as she adds quickly, "And I know that doesn't make up for everything I've said and done to hurt you lately, and that it doesn't magically solve everything between us. I'm not naïve enough to think that, and I know you didn't want to talk about it tonight. I understand, after everything's that happened, but it's how I feel, how I've felt about you for a long time, and I thought you should know. And I know you must think I'm a complete nut-case after the way I've been all over the shop lately, and I am terribly insecure and unsure of myself and so scared of being hurt that I don't open up easily, or at all if I can help it, but I've never felt this way before and I don't..." her voice cracks here and she has to clear her throat before she can continue, "I don't want to lose you... And I know that sounds... insane after I was the one who-"

"Ruth," he interrupts softly.

She swallows and takes a deep shaky breath before she whispers, "Yes?" But he doesn't say anything more, and as she waits for him to speak, slowly stroking her cat to sooth her own nerves, she finds all her efforts futile until, eventually, she can bear it no more and she has to look at him.

"I love you too," he smiles softly as their eyes meet. Slowly, he reaches across the table for her hand, which she lifts from the cat and stretches out towards him, feeling tears begin to gather behind her eyelids and a lump lodge itself in her throat. "I love you too, my Ruth," he repeats softly as he grasps her hand tightly in his.