"The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off."

- Gloria Steinem (US feminist, writer and activist)

It has taken at least twenty minutes for the last five minutes to pass. Ruth is sure that time warps during times of either intense anticipation, or gut-wrenching dread, but she's not yet sure into which category this moment in time falls. She's only anticipating it so that it can then be over, after which she can get on with her life as usual.

And what exactly is `life as usual' for her?

Thinking of Harry, and wondering why he is being so distant, and why he hasn't asked her for a drink, when he'd accepted her offer of a drink, which had been waylaid by Tariq's findings, which had resulted in another three hours on the Grid. And then there's the time she spends missing Nico, and feeling sadness and regret over George.

That is her life.

So why has she accepted another dinner invitation from Simon Lawson?

She mulls that one over for another few minutes, and comes to the conclusion that since no-one else is showing an interest in her, she may as well accept Simon's offer.

She'd been window shopping in central London, when a female voice had called her name.

"Ruth! It is Ruth, isn't it?"

Ruth had momentarily tried to hide inside the bulk of her coat, but the woman had walked closer, and was eventually in her line of sight, so to ignore her would have been considered unsociable at best, and at worst, rude. Ruth had asked herself what Ros Myers would have done in that situation, and the words, `piss' and 'off' would have featured prominently, she was sure. She lifted her head to see the face of a friend of hers from university.

"Nat? Natalie Hart?"

"Natalie Lawson, now," the woman replied, waggling her left hand in front of her face, so that the enormous rock on the ring finger sparkled in the reflected light from the display inside the shop window.

"You're ….. you're married," Ruth had stammered.

"I bloody well hope so. Otherwise this little one will be born illegitimate." Nat patted her stomach, and Ruth's eyes dropped to see the rounded belly of around five months of pregnancy.

"Guess who I married?" Nat asked, her eyes sparkling like her engagement ring.

"I've no idea."

"Andrew Lawson! Imagine that?"

Ruth tried to imagine Andrew Lawson, and nope, she couldn't.

"You remember them, surely. The Lawson twins – identical – Andrew and Simon. I married Andrew, and Simon is now divorced, so he's in the market again. Are you married, Ruth? With someone?"

It was at that point that Ruth knew she should have politely faked an important appointment for which she was late, but no, she got hooked into the conversation with Natalie, and like she always had, she answered all the other woman's questions truthfully. Next thing she knew, she was having coffee with Nat, and exchanging phone numbers, and after that, she'd agreed to allow Nat to give her number to Simon Lawson.

"Who knows? We might end up as sisters-in-law."

And Ruth can think of nothing she'd want less.

So ... why is she having a second dinner with Simon?

She's told herself that she quite likes Simon, and he's good company, but that's not true. He's still rather nice to look at – tall, blond hair thinning (like someone else she knows), pleasant looking (again, like a certain someone) – but he's rather dull, and likes horses, both riding them, and betting on them at the race track. And he talks about them endlessly, and Ruth nods and smiles. She thinks of the conversations she and Harry had shared before she'd had to leave the country, and Simon's intellect is a pale shadow by comparison to Harry's.

So Ruth quickly rings Simon, and relieved to be getting his voicemail, she leaves a message crying off their dinner that evening. She then turns off her phone – in case he rings back wanting an explanation – and begins to gather her things in preparation for leaving for the day.

"Going somewhere, Ruth?"

Like he often does, Harry had crept up on her without her noticing. She stands up to find him right beside her.

"Just home. I feel a bit …." Guilty, annoyed with myself, tired of all this, hungry for you. "I feel a bit queasy."

"Can I drive you home? If you're not feeling well, you might need someone to stay with you for a while."

"Harry, I'll be alright. Really, there's no …..." and she pulls on her coat, grabs her bag, and hurries past him and through the doors.

Once Ruth enters the lift, she wonders – for the thousandth time – why it is she continues to brush Harry off, when she wants so much to be close to him. I just want him to fight for me, like I fought for him, is a thought which emerges from deep inside her, shocking her with its raw truthfulness.

Back on the Grid, Harry still stands beside Ruth's desk, wondering what just happened. In case anyone is watching him – and they all are, but surreptitiously – he pretends to read a file which had been left on Ruth's desk. He has a sense deep in his gut that he'd just allowed another opportunity to pass him by.

Two hours later, Ruth has eaten a boiled egg with soldiers, and has downed several cups of tea. She sits on her sofa with a book, but she's not really reading it. For her, a book in her hands is comforting, like a glass of good whiskey is for Harry.

There it is again.

She thinks of Harry at least once every minute, perhaps more. She is annoyed with herself for not accepting his offer of a ride home, and she is equally as annoyed with him that he didn't push to drive her home. Surely, had he really meant it, he would have insisted he drive her home.

And what would you have done had he?

Ruth knows she would have stuck to her need to be independent, and resisted his offer with all her strength of purpose.

Bollocks!

What – that I'm an independent woman? I have to let Harry know that I'm not some weak little woman who'll fall into his arms when he snaps his fingers.

You're afraid.

Of what?

You know what, so don't play dumb.

Ruth sighs, staring at the gas fire which she'd not turned on, instead having chosen to wrap herself in a fluffy blanket. She really doesn't want to think about Harry.

So why is every second of your life occupied with thoughts of him?

Because I still love him. Because I never stopped loving him, even when I was living happily with George.

Ruth knows she can't be thinking in this way. It is too dangerous. She knows that the reason she was able to live happily with George was because she didn't love him, and that doesn't make any sense at all, even to her.

To love someone is dangerous, right?

Oh, shutup!

Harry is in his office, still mulling over Ruth's sudden departure. He wants a drink, but so far has resisted the call of the amber liquid. He has tried ringing her, but each time the call goes through to voicemail. He hates it when she's not on the Grid. Oh, he knows she has a private life which doesn't include him. It was only last week that she'd smartened herself just before leaving work, and the buzz around the Grid had been that she had a date. What she does away from work is none of his business. He has no ownership of her.

Harry wishes he could take his bravery in the field, and apply it to his relationship with Ruth. It is clear to him that she is drifting away from him, and that perhaps George's death was something neither of them could move beyond.

He suddenly feels very, very tired, and he passes his hand over his face. He needs to have it out with her, this lack of closeness between them. He needs to hear her say to his face that she no longer cares for him, that there will never be a `them' …... an `us'. Until she does, he won't be able to sleep properly, as disturbed as he's been by dreams of Mani giving the order to have Ruth killed.

"Shoot the woman ….. now!" Mani calls to one of his men.

Ruth is sobbing, and he can do nothing. He can't give away the location of the uranium. He can't. Then a shot rings out, and he screams Ruth's name.

This is the point at which he always wakes, having called out Ruth's name in his sleep. He wakes with sweat pouring down his face, and tears in his eyes.

Ros enters his office without knocking, and closes the door behind her. She slides her slim frame into the chair opposite his own, and stares at him across his desk, her eyes hard as flint.

"You know what the problem is, don't you?"

"Rosalind?"

"It's you, Harry." Ros leans forward, so that her hands rest on the edge of the desk. "You're a coward with her, and she wants you to fight for her. If you love her, you have to fight for her. That's all any woman ever wants."

Harry looks at her with a shocked and surprised expression.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Harry. We're all aware of what isn't happening between the two of you. The tension between the two of you is affecting productivity on the Grid."

"I don't know what you mean." Harry's voice is quietly menacing.

"If you don't know what I mean, then you're in worse shape than I think you are." Ros stands, ready to leave. "Fight for her."

Harry stares at the door through which Ros has just left, and wonders how it is she knows so much. Are he and Ruth that transparent? Is he really that clueless? He stands, and walks to his drinks cabinet, and lifts his whiskey decanter, preparing to pour himself a drink. He puts down the decanter and sighs. He needs to act differently. He knows Ros is right, and that he needs to fight for her.

Harry grabs his coat, his keys and his phone, turns off the lights in his office, and leaves.