Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC.

A/N: Fluffy Harry/Ruth Valentine's nonsense, not to be taken seriously. Set early S5. AU.

Harry shifted about in his seat, trying once again to get comfortable whilst silently willing Malcolm to get to the end of his presentation on the latest system updates.

"In conclusion, the enhancements should make all our lives a little easier and speed up the collation of information from the various agency databases," said the techie, looking around the table at his colleagues. "Anyone have-"

"Thanks, Malcolm," Harry cut in. "That was very informative. Right, we're done."

"Oh."

"Is there a problem, Ruth?" asked Harry, hoping desperately that there wasn't or if there was, it wouldn't require his input.

"It's just that I had a couple of questions."

"Well, you don't need the rest of us for that do you?"

"I suppose not."

Relieved that he could finally get back to his office, Harry quickly stood up and immediately regretted it.

"Harry? Is everything all right?" Ruth enquired as he winced and grabbed the edge of the table.

"Fine," he replied, through gritted teeth. "Touch of cramp, nothing to worry about."

"Oh dear. You need to give it a good rub."

Ruth was somewhat surprised to see the startled look that appeared in Harry's eyes in response to her suggestion. He didn't say anything and she watched him walk slowly and carefully out of the meeting room. Shaking her head in bemusement, she turned her attention back to Malcolm.

-x-

Ten minutes later, with her questions answered, Ruth returned to the Grid. Her gaze was automatically drawn to Harry's office; the blinds were shut, which was unusual, especially these days. She deposited her notebook on her desk and stood, hands resting on the back of her chair, as she debated what to do. Harry had clearly been in some pain during the meeting and then he'd tried to play it down. The idea that there might be something wrong with him worried her and that was enough for her to decide she needed to talk to him.

"Harry," she began as she slid the door to his office open, "are you OK? I know something's-"

A flurry of movement and some muttered curses stopped her mid-sentence.

"Er, Ruth, this really isn't a good time," Harry said, trying desperately to manoeuvre his chair closer to his desk.

"Harry?" she enquired, moving nearer to him. "What's wrong?"

"Please Ruth, not now."

She was about to insist he tell her what the problem was when something caught her eye. Something unexpected. She froze, rooted to the spot, her mouth opening and closing several times.

"No, no! Ruth, I'm not…whatever it is you think I'm doing, I'm not," Harry exclaimed, knowing from the look on her face that she was quite probably imagining the worst.

In truth, Ruth didn't know what to think. The only things that were clear to her were that Harry's trousers were down around his knees and she was getting an eyeful of bare thigh. Admittedly, a not unwelcome eyeful of what looked like firm, muscular, bare thigh but it still left the question of why he was in that state in his office…

"I can explain, really I can," Harry gabbled, shifting awkwardly in his seat as he tried to hitch his trousers up.

Deciding that she didn't really want to know what he was doing, Ruth started to back away.

"Please, Ruth; I promise you there is a perfectly innocent explanation," Harry said, attempting to sort out his clothing and stand up at the same time. The sudden movement caused him to wince in pain just as it had in the meeting room and he lost the tenuous hold he had on his still unfastened trousers. They slid down his legs and ended up pooled around his ankles.

Harry was mortified.

Ruth was transfixed.

"Are they…are they Speedos?" she asked, after several, very long moments of silence.

It was only then Harry realised his shirt was rucked up around his waist and Ruth was seeing even more of him than he'd initially thought

"Um, yes. They are," he replied, attempting to regain a little dignity by straightening out his shirt.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you wearing them? And more importantly, why were you sitting at your desk with your trousers undone?" Ruth shook her head. "On second thoughts, I don't think I want to know."

"There is a perfectly valid reason."

She looked sceptical.

"But before I tell you, will you at least shut the bloody door!"

Whilst she did as he asked, Harry took the opportunity to pull his trousers up. He was still fumbling with them when Ruth turned back to look at him.

"Go on then," she said, "tell me this perfectly valid reason."

"There's a burst water main just up the road from my house. When I got home last night, the repairs had only just started. The water was off so I couldn't do any washing, which meant I didn't have any clean…underpants for this morning. So it was either the Speedos or…nothing."

Ruth blinked several times as she tried to stop her brain from conjuring up an image of a pant-less Harry.

"The thing is, Ruth," he continued, interpreting her silence as disbelief, "I haven't worn them for a while and they seem to have shrunk. They're a bit…uncomfortable so I was…adjusting them. When you walked in." He added, "I wasn't doing…what it might have appeared I was doing."

A myriad of thoughts and questions had been swirling around Ruth's mind but it was Harry's final comment that compelled her to speak

"Oh God, no! I didn't think you were doing that, not in the office. N-not that I'm suggesting you would do it anywhere else. I mean, I know there's nothing wrong with doing…that, it's perfectly natural, after all. What I am saying is…well…I wasn't saying…I don't mean…" She finally stopped, and wished, desperately, that she had a much better braking system on her mouth.

"Right…fine," said Harry, rather vaguely.

"I should probably…" Ruth waved her hand in the general direction of her desk.

"Yes, you probably should. And so should I."

They looked at each other for a few more seconds and then Ruth quietly slid the door open and was gone. Harry sighed and carefully sat back down.

-x-

An hour later there was a tentative knock on Harry's office door. It opened a fraction and a voice called out: "Is it OK to come in?"

"Yes, Ruth."

She stepped into his office and closed the door behind her.

Harry smiled at her. "As you can see, Ruth, I'm quite decent."

She gave a small, nervous laugh and he noticed a faint pink blush appear on her face as she began talking.

"I've had an idea. I can nip out at lunchtime and get you some new…underwear. From M and S."

"From where?" questioned Harry, wondering if he'd suddenly developed dyslexic hearing. And then wondering if there was such a thing as dyslexic hearing.

"M and S. Marks and Spencer. On Victoria Street," explained Ruth, slightly incredulous.

"Yes, right, Marks and Spencer. Of course."

"So?"

"Sorry?"

"Would you like me to buy you some new underwear?" Ruth replied, getting the distinct impression that the Speedos were also cutting off the blood supply to Harry's brain.

"It's nice of you to offer but isn't it a bit of an…imposition?"

"No, it's fine, really. I know you've got that lunchtime meeting with the DG and then one with the Home Secretary later this afternoon so you don't really have a lot of time to go running out to the shops, do you?"

Several thoughts vied for attention in Harry's mind. One of which was that she seemed to know his diary better than he did; another was that she'd just made him a rather intimate offer. Perhaps not the quite the sort of intimate offer he hoped she might make one day but, he reasoned, better than nothing.

"Harry?" she prompted.

"Well, I would appreciate it, if you're sure you don't mind. And you'd be helping me out of a tight spot, so to speak."

Ruth smiled at him. "No, I really don't mind. I'm happy to help you out of your tight spot, so to speak."

It was Harry's turn to laugh nervously as he tried to not to think of the sort of help he'd really like Ruth to give him.

Having managed to broach her initial idea with less awkwardness than she'd anticipated, Ruth took a deep breath in preparation for asking the next potentially embarrassing question.

"You'll have to tell me what sort you like, and…um…what size."

For a moment Ruth thought she might have to spell out exactly what she needed to know but luckily Harry understood what she was asking.

After she'd gone, armed with all the relevant information she needed, Harry lent back in his seat and closed his eyes. Whilst he'd harboured the occasional fantasy about discussing underwear with Ruth, it had never been in the context of whether he preferred boxers, briefs or Y-fronts.

A ping from his computer brought him back from his reverie. Email from the DG's office; the agenda for their lunchtime meeting. It was going to be a very long two hours.