Okay, I'm done. Three solid days at the laptop and I need to lie down now! Thanks for the lashings of support and comments. Here is the end - which I have to admit I'm not totally wild about and felt a little 'floundery' as I was writing it but hopefully it will just about do the trick.

Ruth returns to her desk. Through the office window she sees Harry's empty chair. She ventures to the roof.

He is not there. She waits, hopeful that he may appear, but nothing and no one does.

And all she can process is that he was jealous.

Harry was jealous.

His actions, his procedural mistakes were because he could not cope with the thought of her and Johnny together.

And she wonders if the note in the book was indeed a message: a message not from James, but from Harry…to her.

Harry stands by the river, reports abandoned.

She wants him.

He can't accept it. He's seen her face, he's seen the tenderness, the glow, the love.

But for him? Surely not for him. He shakes his head in disbelief.

As Ruth crosses the grid back to her desk, the pod doors open and Harry steps out.

Totally unexpectedly the two find themselves face to face.

"Hi," says Ruth.

"Hi," says Harry

Every single raw nerve is on edge: on edge with the most exquisite of tension.

So they stare at each other, until both turn away, because neither knows what should come next.

At six thirty Adam returns to the grid.

"How's it going?" he whispers.

Ros's eyebrows, jacked up by disdain, hit the ceiling.

"They're dancing round each other," says Jo, miserably

"Badly," mutters Ros, "It's like having to watch John Sergeant."

Adam sighs and decides that enough is most definitely enough.

Over an hour later he bursts through the office door.

"Harry…"

"Adam. Knocking is most welcome, though not oft expected."

"Harry, there's a problem with Ruth,"

Now he has his attention.

"I think everything's just caught up with her. Jo spoke to her on the phone and she sounded in a bad way."

"She's at home?" Harry's coat is already half way on.

"Yes, home."

The pod doors swish closed.

"Better start praying for a miracle," pronounces Ros.

Ruth pours a glass of wine and tenderly turns Horace around in her hands.

It's a beautiful book and a rare one. And yet she has not been asked to return it. If it had come out of the section's budget they would have been demanding it back the minute she returned to the grid.

But nothing. She decides that she'll keep hold of it until then.

Unless… unless this had nothing to do with budgets and expenses. Unless this truly was a gift.

She sets aside the book and stirs the onions that are simmering, stung by a cloud of steam and fumes. Blinking furiously she takes a mouthful of wine, spilling some on her pyjamas. She looks but can't really see anything, they're so tattered anyway it doesn't matter.

The knock comes just as she's grabbing a tissue to dab the wine.

She opens the door, tissue in hand, blinking as her eyes smart.

"Harry!" she exclaims, suddenly, horribly aware that she is wearing the least attractive nightwear since her grandmothers winceyette nightie.

"Can I come in, Ruth?"

His tone is insistent but gentle and brokers no denial.

She stands to one side.

He sits down on the sofa and indicates she should join him.

Her heartbeat had hit critical the moment she opened the door, but sat here like this, wearing no underwear and no make up...

"I thought you might need to talk about this, Ruth?"

"I…err..."

"I know it's difficult and these things can sometimes just …and it can be …overwhelming."

She is definitely overwhelmed.

He, on the other hand, appears entirely focused on her and fortunately seems to be paying no attention whatsoever to the shabbiness and total lack of sex appeal of her apparel. Maybe there was the hint of the paternal there after all.

Nervously she balls up the tissue in her hands.

He reaches into his breast pocket and offers her his silk handkerchief.

It seems rude not to take it and he proffers it with such gentleness.

"Thanks," she says and stares at him, getting lost, watching him as he studiously searches her face.

It's when his eyes meet hers that his intent for being here, his concern, seem to stall and get distracted.

She has the sharpest, smartest, bluest eyes he has ever seen. They are piercing and he is impaled.

This isn't helping, Harry. Say something.

"Tea, I'll make you some tea. Sweet tea for a shock." And he is on his feet.

"I'd rather have wine," she suggests.

"Best stay away from alcohol until you feel better."

"I don't feel ill."

"But you're upset," he nods at the discarded tissue.

"Onions," she says.

"Onions?"

She nods.

"You're not upset?"

"Only in that I look like a bag of spanners and you have me at a total disadvantage."

"I've seen worse looking bags of spanners," he says lamely.

"Was that an attempt at a compliment, Harry?" she smiles.

"I couldn't exactly say what I really thinking."

The air in the room is suddenly startlingly still and thin.

"I'll get the wine," he turns to the kitchen.

"I'll change," she gets up, "Help yourself."

"Please don't."

"Sorry, what?"

"Please don't change."

"But I…"

"You look beautiful, Ruth," he smiles softly, "That's what I really thought …think."

Say something, anything, she screams to herself, but don't mention basques or winceyette!

"Well, you could at least take your tie and jacket off and make me feel a little less undressed."

Oh shit, Ruth that's nearly as bad.

"What ever you want," he offers, with what she can only conclude is the sexiest smile she has ever felt… not seen…felt!

When he sits back down with two glasses and begins to take off his tie as instructed the silence is compounded once more.

She pulls her legs up to her chest, arms wrapped around them.

"Is that defensive body language, Ruth?"

"Well, you've got your tie off and we know where that can lead."

He wraps it around his hand,

"He deserved it."

She nods.

"Are you sure you're alright, Ruth?"

"Wish I had a pound for every time I've been asked that in the last couple of days."

"Deflection."

"I'm fine. Really," she hesitates, burning to push this, to prompt him, "In fact, Harry, the whole experience has been quite …instructive."

Is she talking about Johnny? Or could it be him? And those eyes, full of mischief.

"How so?"

Oh, good spook. Question with a question.

"Deflection," she echoes back, with a smile.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being played, Ruth?"

"Played? You? By me?"

"Yes, by little old you," he smiles, "The brightest button in the box."

"We've strayed on to haberdashery now…that's deflection, Harry."

He laughs.

"Okay. What do you want to know?"

And now it comes to it, she wonders what to say.

"Called your bluff, have I?"

That sexy smile is back. Look away Ruth. Look away before you get lost.

But she is lost. Lost in the hazel web.

So lost that she doesn't think before she speaks.

"I want to know if you feel how I feel, Harry?"

"That depends how you feel, Ruth?"

And neither have looked away, neither have blinked.

"I … well…I…"

"Hesitation," he smiles, "And repetition."

"Harry, please!"

"I love you, Ruth. That's how I feel."

And there it is.

"I have done for a long time, it just took me a little while to accept that it wasn't just me being a stupid old fool."

"You don't have any paternal feelings?" She blurts out.

"For you?"

She nods.

"No, Ruth I don't have one ounce of paternal feeling towards you. What I'd like is far, far removed from that."

She blushes slightly, the corners of her mouth crinkling with pleasure.

"Does it involve wearing a basque?" she asks, the mischief back in her eyes.

"I'm a man, Ruth, I'm not going to say no, though to be brutally honest I need to admit that those pyjamas are really rather sexy."

She laughs shaking her head.

"I know your game…" he takes her hand, "Deflection again."

"From what?" she twists their hands towards her so that the back of his rests against the material over her chest.

"Add distraction to that," he smiles, flexing his fingers against her, "Not fair, Ruth."

"So tell me what I'm deflecting from, Harry?"

"Your question … and I quote 'I want to know if you feel how I feel?'"

"Yes," she says with the single most stunning smile he has ever felt, "Yes, Harry, I feel how you feel." She twists their hands back so that it is now hers that rests against his chest.

"I have for a very long time, it just took me a while to realise it might ever be reciprocated."

He leans a little closer, trapping their hands, his face hovering before her, their lips almost touching.

"I swear that I will reciprocate anything and everything that you so desire, Ruth."

"Okay," she whispers, "...Reciprocate this," and she kisses him.