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Harry knows something is wrong as soon as she knocks on his door. Ruth never knocks. Between Lucas' suicide and the investigation, they have had very little time to talk. For the first time he appreciates how much he has missed it. "Come in," he calls, moving to the drinks cabinet and loosening his tie. The inquiry today has been extremely trying – the jobs-worths at Internal Affairs (those who can't accept that they haven't really got a leg to stand on) have been going through everything with a fine toothcomb, and they've been asking questions about things even he can't remember happening. He's only here to pick up some boxes, things that he thought he could do without and later realised he needed.

She appears empty-handed, which is unusual. She at least makes an effort when she comes here to pretend to be dropping off files, or something of the sort. Ruth sits without being asked, and shakes her head at his mimed offer of a drink. Once he has served himself, he leans against the desk beside her, noting with pain the white, taut scars that still mar her wrists, souvenirs of her kidnap during the whole Bateman fiasco. If there is one thing he still can't forgive himself for, it is this – the fact that she was put in danger, and as a consequence of his actions, too…

Somehow, she realizes what he is doing, and glances up at him with a soft smile, comfort in her eyes. "I only came to ask you something, while we aren't saving the country," she explains wryly. His heart foolishly leaps at the thought of various questions (most of which are wholly inappropriate) that she could ask him, and he mentally scolds himself. The Bateman incident was over a month ago now, and in that time, she hasn't given him any sign that she still retains feelings for him. Even when he received the date for the start of the investigation, and was told that he had been relieved of his responsibilities for the present, she didn't react in any way. It was as though she really was dead inside. Each time he comes to the Grid, slowly clearing out his office, there is no reaction. He often comes at lunch – when the majority of the team are out – but he always sees her.

"I cleared it with the Home Secretary a few weeks ago, but I wanted to ask you too..." she burbles awkwardly, twisting her hands together in her lap. "I'm taking some leave next week… only if you – I mean, the team… will be alright without me. I thought, since things are relatively quiet, that I'd go away for Christmas." Harry blinks. He doesn't remember the last time she had the chance to take leave. She's definitely deserved it, of course, but he realizes that he'll miss her. Terribly. Frantically. Desperately – "Er, Harry?"

She's gazing up at him nervously, half-expecting him to refuse her request. He forces a polite smile and moves away from her to sit down behind his desk. "Of course. Take the week. Relax." Ruth gives an audible sigh of relief, and stands up to leave. "Thanks Harry. I appreciate it. If you need to get in touch, here's the number for the cottage." She bends down and scribbles something on a slip of paper, impatiently pushing her hair out of the way as she does so. "Have a good Christmas," she whispers as she rises. With that, she is gone, leaving only a faint whiff of sweet perfume to mark the fact that she was ever there at all. Harry, ever the gentleman, has risen at her departure, but now he sinks back into his chair and covers his face with his hands. The next few weeks of waiting and worrying are going to be hard enough, without knowing that the Grid will be trying to cope with the absence of one of his most capable officers. At least, he tries to convince himself that that is all that's the matter…

The next knock at his door is equally unwelcome. It comes in the middle of the afternoon, just as a headache is beginning to pulse at Harry's temples. It's worse because he knows that, this time, it can't be Ruth. He watched her leave the Grid just a few minutes ago, on her way to a late lunch. "Come!" he snaps, and Tariq pokes his head around the door.

"This had better be very important," Harry continues as the young technician seats himself at the desk. Tariq, to his surprise, grins and jokes, "Ouch – so Ruth told you about her leave then..." Harry casts his subordinate a withering glance, longing for the days when technicians meddled with computers and nothing else.

Impatiently, he reminds Tariq, "I have far more important things to worry about than Ruth trotting off on holiday, Tariq. The inquiry, for example, and the fact that, yet again, some crank is attempting to blow us all to kingdom come." Tariq nods slowly, and then murmurs slyly as he gets up, "Sure. But I wouldn't fancy Cornwall at this time of year..."

Harry has turned his attention back to his half-full box already, and only utters a vague, non-committal, "Hmm." Just as Tariq steps outside, the full implications of the technician's words sink in and his head jerks up.

"Tariq!" he barks, and the technician obediently returns inside.

"Cornwall?" Harry asks. Tariq nods, trying to hide a smile.

"She's borrowing a cottage from a uni friend, apparently. I wondered if you needed the address, or anything, you know, for the records..." His voice trails off, and he presents Harry with a sheet of notepaper. On it, in Ruth's unmistakably elegant handwriting, is an address. Harry hesitates for half a second and then accepts it. "Thanks, Tariq," he nods. Then, trying to sound nonchalant, he inquires, "Does Ruth...?"

Tariq finishes his sentence. "...Know that I'm giving you this?

"Yes, in a word."

"No. No sense in worrying her about anything."

She is, as usual, the last one to go home. Or so she thinks... As she prepares to leave the Grid that night, she notices that Harry's overcoat is still hanging up in his office. She hesitates for a moment, and then enters.

Harry is lying asleep on his couch, tie loosened and jacket strewn half over him. Her eyes widen in shock. How he hasn't been woken before now, she doesn't know, but as she moves quietly and stealthily towards the door, he shifts and half wakes up. "Ruth?" he asks blearily, hoisting himself half up on his elbow. She sighs and does the first thing that crops into her head.

Walking over, she softly presses a kiss to his forehead. "Go back to sleep," she tells him. "You're…you're just dreaming." He smiles softly.

"Oh, how true," she thinks she hears him murmur as he sinks back down. She stands there for a moment, gazing down at him, suddenly sad, and wonders why he is here, and not at home in bed. The inquiry is hitting him hard, she knows, but for once there is nothing she can say to make it better. The mere thought of it makes her feel guilty beyond belief. If it hadn't been for her, Harry would never have taken such a foolish risk. She reaches out a hand to wake him properly, and then decides against it. It might provoke awkward questions. Instead, as she leaves, she makes sure she shuts his office door with an especially loud crash, and hurries off the Grid.

Inside the office, the crash wakes Harry. He groans. He'd only intended to catch ten minutes of sleep before risking the journey home. Glancing at his watch, he notices how late it is. Probably a kindly cleaner, too shy to wake up the Head of Section D (even one may or may not be sacked within the next week), shut the door to wake him…

A shame though… He recalls that he was having a rather pleasant dream, though the finer details escape him. He seems to remember Ruth being there, kissing his forehead with such a sweet smile. "Definitely a dream, old son," he grumbles as he rises, and shrugs his jacket on.