25th April 1991

Oxford

A group of students wonder into the bar, chatting and laughing together. The lone man in the corner raises his head and watches them for a few moments, before sighing heavily and taking a gulp of his drink, draining the glass. Slowly he gets up and staggers slightly as he moves to the bar and orders another double. As he waits for the barman to pour it, a girl comes up to stand next to him, and addressing the other bar attendant, she places an order for six drinks. She waits beside him patiently, humming a tune under her breath. He's surprised to find that it's the Ode to Joy. His interest is piqued and he studies her surreptitiously. She's not very tall and has shoulder-length chestnut hair that is tied back in a pony tail. She's wearing jeans and a loose fitting top under which he's sure she's hiding a good figure, judging by the shape of her thighs and calves. She's probably in her early twenties, he guesses. She turns her head toward him and graces him with a small smile, but it's her eyes that capture his attention immediately. They are a sparkling blue-grey that reminds him of a stormy ocean. She must see the admiration in his gaze because she blushes slightly before turning away. The barman plonks his drink down on the counter, breaking into his thoughts.

"Thanks," he murmurs, puts the money on the bar and lifts the glass to his lips. He takes a small sip and becomes aware of the girl, no woman he corrects himself, next to him watching him. "It's my daughter's birthday," he offers as an explanation; he isn't quite sure why. "She's eleven today." A look of pride flickers in his eyes before it is replaced by pain and regret.

"Congratulations," she murmurs, not quite certain of what else she can say.

The man next to her looks to be in his late thirties, broad shouldered and fit, judging from the way his shirt hugs his biceps and shoulders. His hair is light brown and cut very short, but it's his eyes that have captured her attention. Even though his face is without expression, his honey brown eyes betray the turmoil inside him. A divorcee, she concludes, who's not on good terms with his ex and was not allowed to attend his daughter's birthday party, or perhaps couldn't attend due to a business meeting. He works too hard and doesn't have time for his family, which he loves dearly, hence the divorce. He looks down at his drink and nods at her response.

"It must be hard for you not to be able to be at her celebration," she adds. His eyes snap to hers, and she realises that he's more sober than he lets on.

"Couldn't get back in time. I had a business meeting today," he nods in agreement.

The bar man brings over the girl's drinks just then, and she smiles at the man next to her before heading back to her friends. The man staggers back to his table and flops down on the chair where he nurses his drink.

"Alpha One," a voice in his ear intones a good half hour later, "the target's on his way; he's just outside the pub." The man grunts once to acknowledge the message. Then he hears the pub door open and distinguishes the heavy footfall of a new customer. He's deliberately sitting at the target's favourite table.

A few moments later, a man in his late forties approaches his table with a drink. "Is this seat taken?" he asks in a deep voice.

"It's all yours," he replies, slurring his words a little. "I was just leaving."

He gets up and almost falls over. He grabs the table to steady himself, but he almost knocks that over too. The commotion draws the attention of the other customers, and they watch him with mild interest and amusement; only the girl from the bar watches with concern. Something stirs inside him, but he forces himself to stay focused on his work.

"Sorry," he murmurs and tries to stand up once more. This time he manages it but staggers sideways into the man with the deep voice. He mumbles another apology and slowly, but painfully, continues his performance until he's outside the pub.

"Nice work, Alpha One," comes the voice in his ear. "We've got his position and the audio's working too. You can head back to base."

"Roger that," the man murmurs and adds, "Going off comms," before reaching into his ear and pulling out a listening device, which he places in a little container and then pockets it.

The pub door swings open behind him, and he leans into the wall mindful of keeping up appearances. A hand touches him lightly on the shoulder.

"Are you okay?" a small voice asks. "Can I get you a cab?"

"I'm fine," he slurs and turns to face the woman from the pub.

"You left your jacket in there," she says and offers it out to him.

"Thanks," he murmurs, taking it from her outstretched hand and attempting to stand up straight.

His head spins and he almost topples forward. Her arms shoot out to steady him, and he feels their warmth through the thin cotton of his shirt. She pushes him back against the wall and releases him gingerly.

"I'll call you a cab," she says determinedly and fishes into her pocket for her phone.

"What's your name?" he asks in a husky voice that sends shivers down her spine.

She pauses in the act of scrolling though her contacts for a cab number, surprised at her physical reaction to his voice. "Ruth," she murmurs. "And yours?"

"Paul," he lies and adds, "Are you a student here?"

"Hmmm," she answers as she shifts her focus back to her phone. "Classics."

"I went to Oxford too, you know," he murmurs as his eyes glazes over and he takes a trip down memory lane. "Not Classics though."

Ruth doesn't hear him as she's busy ordering him a cab. She talks to the person at the other end of the line and makes a frustrated sound before hanging up and trying two more numbers without luck.

"Friday night," she murmurs and then turns to Paul and says, "No cabs for an hour. Where are you staying? I could give you a lift in my flatmate's car if you like. We'll have to walk a couple of blocks to my place though. Do you think you can manage?"

"Of course," he replies and makes an effort to stand on his feet again.

He sways ominously, and she reaches to put an arm round his waist.

"Lean on me," she orders and waits until he drapes his arm round her shoulders. Then slowly, they make their way down the street. He struggles to control his reaction to the feel of her small frame nestled against his side and her light perfume, a mixture of citrus and exotic spices, that reaches his nose as he breathes in. Silently, Ruth guides him to her building.

"Bugger," she swears under her breath when she notices that her flatmate's car isn't outside. Paul looks down at her and she explains, "Sorry. My flatmate said she'd stay in today, but it looks like she's out and has taken her car."

"It's okay," he slurs. "I'll walk," but he makes no move to let go of her shoulders.

"Where did you say you're staying?" she asks.

"Victoria House Hotel," he replies.

"Oh Gosh," she sighs. "You can't walk all the way there in this state. Come upstairs with me. I'll make you some coffee and you can sober up a bit before you set off."

He eyes her appraisingly and is impressed. She doesn't appear to be scared of him. It's probably a result of the fine performance he's putting on as a drunk. She's probably certain that he wouldn't be able to stay upright long enough to try anything, let alone manage to get an erection. He nods his agreement, surprised at himself for accepting her offer. He has no time to probe his feelings, however, as she steers him to the front door and up the stairs.

She lets him lean on the wall for support while she unlocks the door to her flat. Then she motions him in, and he staggers thought into a small sitting room. He gets himself to a comfortable looking sofa and plonks himself down on it. In the mean time, Ruth has hung up her coat, unzipped her boots, and thrown them by the door.

"I'll put the kettle on," she offers and disappears through a door to the kitchen, but her voice drifts back to him as she says, "I'm afraid I only have instant coffee. I prefer tea myself so I only have it for guests."

"Instant's fine," he replies and kicks his shoes off.

He leans back onto the couch and closes his eyes. When she returns a few minutes later, he pretends to be asleep. Ruth sees him sleeping and smiles. She picks up one of the blankets from a nearby chair and covers him with it. Then she sits in the arm chair, and grabbing the TV remote and a blanket for herself, she settles down to drink her tea and watch some Friday night television. She watches while she sips her tea, but turns it off as soon as she's finished. Paul decides that this is probably the right time to pretend to wake up, but he changes his mind when, moments later, he hears the key in the lock and Ruth's flatmate enters the room.

"Hi," she greets, and then spotting Paul on the sofa, she asks, "Who's this?"

"His name's Paul," Ruth murmurs in a soft voice so as not to wake him. "I met him at the pub."

"Goodness me, Ruth!" her friend exclaims, and walking up to her, places an ice cold hand on her forehead and asks, "Are you ill? You never bring men home. And from the pub too. I would have thought the library would have been more your scene."

Ruth laughs and swats her hand away, "I'm fine, Maggie. It's Paul who isn't. He's drunk. It sounded like he was drowning his sorrows. It's his daughter's birthday today and he couldn't be with her."

"Now, that explains it. You're always soft when it comes to fathers and daughters, Ruth," Maggie sighs.

"Well you probably would be too if you'd lost your dad when you were eleven," she murmurs. "Anyway, the poor man couldn't walk straight, and I couldn't get a cab, so I thought I'd drive him to his hotel. But when we got here, you'd taken your car, so I invited him up for a cup of coffee and he fell asleep."

"Dear, sweet Ruth, always taking care of everyone," her friend smiles. "That's what I love about you."

"I'll bet," Ruth murmurs. "Especially when you're the one who's drunk."

The girl laughs and kisses her cheek before saying, "Well, wake him up then and take him home. You can have the car." She walks up to Paul and peers at his face before adding, "Better yet, call a cab. He isn't even good looking. How old is he?"

"Maggie," Ruth hisses. "Don't be rude. He's a business man, not a student." Then she turns her eyes on him to study his face and adds quietly, "Besides, he has gorgeous eyes."

Maggie's head snaps round to look at her and she teases, "Goodness, Ruth, you really like him."

Ruth glares at her, but Maggie holds her gaze, and eventually, Ruth gives in, shrugs, and says, "Not a crime is it?"

Paul is very grateful for the blanket that covers him as he listens to the girls discussing him. He's having trouble keeping his breathing deep and even. Ruth finds him attractive and the thought makes his heart beat faster. He can't quite figure out why this is the case. He certainly finds her beautiful, but the attraction is much more than a mere physical one. He doesn't quite know what to do with it. He's somehow sure that sleeping with her will only make it worse. And in any case, the gentleman inside him would never allow himself to take advantage of her in that way. She's been kind to him, and he can't bring himself to hurt her by taking her to bed under false pretences.

"Look!" Maggie exclaims suddenly. "I think he's waking up."

His uneven breathing has apparently been noticed, so Paul stretches and opens his eyes. At least he can pretend to be less drunk now, though he'll have to fake the beginning of a huge hangover. "Hi," he murmurs rather huskily and looks up at them through heavy lidded eyes. "Sorry, did I fall asleep? Who are you?"

"This is Maggie," Ruth answers, "my flatmate."

"Hi," Maggie says.

"Hello," Paul gets up slowly, wincing slightly as he moves, and extends his hand to her. "Paul Hill. Pleased to meet you." They shake hands and Paul continues, "I'm so sorry to have imposed on your hospitality like this. I'd better be getting back to my hotel."

"I'll give you a lift," Ruth offers.

"No, no," Paul insists. "I'll find my way all right. You've already done too much."

"It's no trouble at all," Ruth replies, and ignoring his protests, gets up and puts her boots back on.

"Don't waste your breath," Maggie says to Paul. "She won't give up until she's seen you safely home. I think she sees it as her civic duty to take care of the all drunks in Oxford." Ruth glares at her and Maggie chuckles. "Goodnight, Paul," she says.

"Goodnight, Maggie," he murmurs, and putting his shoes and jacket back on, follows Ruth out of the flat.

"Walking normally again I see," Ruth observes with a small smile as they walk down the stairs.

"Yes," Paul murmurs, and lifting his hand to his head gingerly, he adds, "but I have a splitting headache."

They get into Maggie's car and Ruth starts the engine. She drives confidently though Oxford like the long time resident she is.

"How long are you in town for?" Ruth asks presently.

Paul hesitates and then says, "Just tonight. I leave in the morning."

There is a brief pause and then Ruth asks, "So where's home?"

"London," he answers easily and then adds, "What about you? How long until you graduate?"

"A couple of months," Ruth replies. "I have exams coming up soon."

"Good luck with them," Paul says warmly. "What are you planning to do next?"

"I'm not sure," she says thoughtfully. "I don't want to do research. I want something more challenging that will make a difference."

"Politics?" he offers.

"Good heavens, no!" Ruth exclaims. "I don't think I'm dishonest enough, or have a big enough ego."

He chuckles and Ruth's stomach flips. "Are you married?" she asks suddenly and then promptly turns bright red and wishes that the earth would just swallow her up.

"Divorced," he answers evenly, though a small smile tugs at his lips.

"I thought so," she murmurs and sensing his eyes on her explains, "When you mentioned your daughter, I thought you sounded heartbroken that you couldn't be with her on her birthday. If you lived with her, you wouldn't have sounded so hurt."

Paul marvels at her deductive abilities. He really was heartbroken that he couldn't be with his daughter on her birthday. "You're good at reading people," he murmurs.

They've stopped at a traffic light, and she turns to look at him. Raw emotion radiates out of his expressive eyes, and it makes her insides clench tight.

"Paul?" she whispers and lifts her left hand to touch his arm.

And then suddenly, his self-control snaps and he leans forward, pulls her toward him, and kisses her firmly on the lips. She recovers quickly from her surprise, and wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him close. Their lips part and their tongues swirl together as he frees her hair from its pony tail and slides his fingers through it. A loud hooting from behind brings them back to their surroundings, and Ruth turns her attention back to the road. Her hands are trembling, and she knows that she should stop the car before she causes an accident. She spots a narrow street up ahead and pulls into it, driving a little way before finding a parking spot against a thick hedge. She turns off the engine, and their heavy breathing seems loud in the sudden stillness. Slowly she turns to look at him, but his face is in shadow and she can't make out his expression.

"Paul?" she says a little uncertainly.

"Yes?" comes his deep, husky voice.

"I don't usually do this sort of thing," she begins and pauses, not quite sure how to continue.

"It's okay, Ruth," he murmurs. "You don't need to explain. It's my fault. I'm truly very sorry. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that. You were very kind to me, and what I did was unpardonable."

"I liked it," Ruth admits shyly. There is silence for a few moments and then she adds, "I'd like it if you did it again." She can hear his breathing quicken, and she wishes that she could see his face.

"I can't, Ruth," he says eventually in an unsteady voice. "No matter how beautiful and desirable I might find you. You're so young and have your whole life ahead of you, and I... I'm not who you think I am. I've done some things... I... I just can't."

Ruth considers what he's saying and then thinks back over her brief acquaintance with this man. There's something different about him, a dangerous side that intrigues her. And yet no matter what he says, she believes that he's a good man because, if he wasn't, he wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of her. And then there's this desire she feels for him, the likes of which she's never felt before. Just feeling his full lips against hers was enough to make her yearn for more and lose all ability to think straight. How many times in a lifetime does one find that? And so she decides that, even if it's only for one night, or perhaps because it's only for one night, she wants to experience making love with this man.

"I know that I don't know you at all," Ruth says eventually, "but I'm quite good at reading people, and no matter what things you might have done in your life, I can see that you're a good enough person to not try to take advantage of me. I told you that I don't do this sort of thing usually, but the truth is that I've never wanted to before. But when you're near me, when you touch me and kiss me, I feel so... so alive, and I know that I'll forever regret it if... if we don't finish what we started."

She reaches her hand across the space between them and touches his thigh, and for the second time in one night, his self-control slips. He pulls her to him and kisses her passionately, running his hands thought her hair, sliding them down to cup her breasts. She releases their seat belts and her hands run up and down his chest, unbuttoning his jacket and sliding over his shirt. She pulls it out of his waistband and runs her hands below it across his abdomen, revelling in the feel of his hard muscles. Her fingers are cold, and it adds to his excitement. He groans into her mouth, unbuttons her coat, and pulls up her shirt to run his fingers along her soft skin. He reaches back and unclasps her bra before hitching up her shirt, bending forward, and taking each of her soft nipples into his mouth. They harden instantly in response, and she holds his head down and moans his name.

He lifts his head and says huskily, "Harry. Please call me Harry, my middle name."

"Harry," she murmurs, and he groans in response.

"Push your seat back," he growls, and releasing her, he adjusts his own so that it's as flat as possible.

Then he removes his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. He helps Ruth remove her coat and pull her shirt off. Soon she's naked from the waist up, and he brings his mouth and hands hungrily down on her breasts. He nips, licks, sucks, and strokes her, building her up as his name fills her mind and spills from her lips... Harry. He lets his hand slide down to her jeans and opens them up. She lifts her pelvis up and pulls her jeans and underwear down for him.

He strokes a finger along her delicate folds and murmurs, "God, you're so wet, Ruth."

He slides a finger inside her as he sucks on her nipple and she comes, clenching her muscles tight around him and moaning in ecstasy. He strokes her soft skin gently as she comes back down and then leans over her lap and begins to build her up again, sucking and licking her clitoris with his mouth while his fingers work their magic inside her. Her second and third orgasms are just as powerful as the first, and Harry feels extreme satisfaction in having brought her to such heights. For the first time in his life, the pleasure of a woman comes before his own.

"Please," she murmurs in a low throaty voice that arouses him to new heights. "I want to feel you. All of you."

He lowers his trousers and boxers as she removes her boots and pulls her legs free from her jeans and knickers. Then she straddles him, sitting across his thighs, and strokes a finger down the middle of his chest, looping around his nipples and travelling down to his pubic hair. His breathing becomes heavier, and he holds on tightly to her hips while her finger circles around the base of his shaft. Then she slides it up one side, round the tip of his penis, and down the other.

"Oh God, Ruth," he groans, "Wait."

He reaches for his jacket and pulls out his wallet. He opens it up and quickly finds the condom he's looking for. Then he slips the wallet back into his pocket and tosses his jacket into the back before opening the packaging with impatient hands and extracting the thin latex tube. He slides it on expertly and quickly, and then lifting her pelvis with his strong arms, he brings her forward toward his hardened length.

She steadies herself by clasping his shoulders, and then uses one hand to place him at her opening. Slowly he lowers her on top of him, and he slides inside her, making them both groan with pleasure. Once he's completely sheathed in her, they still, adjusting to the feel of each other. "You feel so good, Ruth," Harry murmurs in her ear. "You're so tight."

All she can manage to say is his name. He begins to rock backward and forward, moving inside her slowly, gently. She moans and starts to move with him, and he helps her with his strong arms to raise herself until he's almost out before lowering her back down again. It feels so good to have him inside her, but their rhythm is suddenly too slow for her. Moving her left leg up, she plants her foot near the hand brake and begins to move faster and deeper, pulling him out and plunging back in. And before he knows it, Harry loses all ability to think and can only feel as she builds him up, and he climaxes powerfully inside her roaring in ecstasy.

When he comes back to himself, he finds her sitting on his lap with her head on his shoulder, her face buried in his neck, and her fingers drawing lazy patterns on his chest. He hums contentedly and reaches his arms round her to hold her tightly. They stay like this for a while, and when Ruth shivers, he reaches one hand over to her seat, gets her coat, and wraps it around her.

"Better?" he asks and she nods.

"I don't want to leave," she admits, and it breaks his heart because he knows he has to leave her and soon; they expect him back on the Grid in a few hours.

"Neither do I," he admits and kisses the top of her head.

"Will I see you again?" she asks timidly.

He's silent for some time thinking about the implications of telling her the truth of who he is and what he does. She'd need to be vetted first and then... "I hope so," he says eventually. "I really hope so, Ruth."

His mobile rings, and he has to move to find his jacket. She moves back to her seat and gets dressed as he answers the call. "Yes... Good... I'll be there in two hours... No... I will," she hears him say.

He disconnects the call and turns to her, but before he can speak, she says, "I know. You have to go."

He nods sadly, and removing the condom, he ties the end into a knot and pulls up his underwear and trousers.

"Here," she says and hands him a tissue.

He thanks her and wraps the condom inside it before placing it in his pocket. She can't bare the awkwardness that has cropped up between them all of a sudden, so she reaches over and helps him button his shirt. "Thank you," he says as soon as she's finished and pulls her to him for a kiss.

They both find their desire rekindle as they explore each other's months thoroughly, as if trying to commit the contours to memory. They pull apart reluctantly, and after adjusting their seats and putting on their seat belts, Ruth starts the engine. She drives carefully though town until they reach his hotel. She parks in the parking lot and they look at each other. Despite the fact that she looks sad, her eyes sparkle at him in adoration, and he silently promises himself that he will do his best to return to her again soon. He wants this to be so much more than a one-night-stand.

"Goodbye, Harry," she says quietly and squeezes his knee.

"Goodbye, Ruth," he murmurs, and leaning toward her, he kisses her briefly on the lips. Then, getting out of the car, he walks away and doesn't look back.