Ruth awoke because of the shouting.
She stumbled out of bed, dazed. The walls between her and Harry's hotel rooms were paper thin, and she could hear his shouting.
The air was muggy, oppressive. It made her feel like she was moving through fog. Her hands shook as she slid open the bedside table draw, grasped the gun Harry had given her, just in case. Undid the safety. Grabbed the key to their shared connecting door.
Who was in his room? Were they hurting him? Going to kill him?
More shouting. Harry's voice, again.
This was Baghdad. Not their usual remit. But there had been intelligence. Someone in the highest reaches of Six was corrupt. Maybe working with corrupt elements in the CIA, too. There was a plot to smuggle weapons grade uranium into Baghdad, to be discovered, to justify the war. So it was just her and Harry, pretending to be assisting, offering their expertise, with the British security operation, all the while actually gathering evidence on Six. Had someone discovered them, before she and Harry could unravel this plot together?
Quietly, quietly. Ruth slid the key in the lock, held up the gun, swung the door open.
Instead she saw Harry, half-naked and twisted in the bed sheets, in the middle of a nightmare.
"Mmm, no, don't," Harry murmured, no longer shouting his distress at the top of his lungs.
"Oh, Harry," Ruth said, "Harry, wakeup… it's oh, it's a nightmare."
"No," Harry rejoindered from his sleep.
Hands still shaking, Ruth crossed the room, rested the gun on his bedside table. Outside, the moon was high. A cold desert wind blew in from the metal barred window, and cooled her sweat-soaked skin. Her deep blue nightshirt still clung to her, and, suddenly aware of her nakedness, Ruth felt awkward.
But she should wake him up. Ruth tried to pat Harry's shoulders awkwardly.
"Bill, Bill, Bill," Harry moaned, like a tortured animal.
"Harry," Ruth continued, shaking a little harder. "Wake-oof!"
Harry had woken suddenly, grabbed both her arms excruciatingly hard and thrown her to the bed beneath him, knocking the wind out of her.
He was on top of her. She struggled; he held her down. Pinned her arms above her head. Pressed his bulky weight into her.
"It's me! It's Ruth!" she squeaked.
"Christ, Ruth!" Harry swore, "What the hell are you doing?"
Adrenaline was still pumping through Harry from his nightmare, and then what he assumed was a fight. He failed to release his grip on her, but finally meets her wide, frightened eyes in the moonlight.
"Ruth?" he demanded angrily.
"I-I I heard,,, and then.."
"You heard what?"
"You were having a nightmare," Ruth rushed out, "You were screaming, Harry… God, I thought there was someone in your room, that they had gotten to you. I got the gun, I was going to…!"
"Oh," breathed Harry, releasing her arms, but still pressing her into the mattress with the bulk of his large body.
From beneath him still, but calmer now, Ruth stopped and really looked at Harry's face. There were tears in his eyes, tear tracks wetting his cheeks.
"Oh, Harry, you're crying…" she said compassionately.
"No, I'm not," Harry grunted.
"What were you dreaming about?" Ruth questioned earnestly.
"Just… the bodies today. Burnt. Brought back memories," Harry stuttered out brokenly, so unlike his usual commanding self, and more like, well, her, awkward and nervous Ruth.
She recalls the scene from early today, though. They had driven through the streets of Baghdad to meet an informer. Someone who apparently had dealt with someone from the Security Services, who new something about the plot. But they were too late; instead all they had found were two bodies, charred and burnt. The smell of gasoline.
"It was…" Ruth agreed. "What memories?"
"…Bill," Harry moaned, and pressed his face into her neck.
Ruth lay there holding him, as she felt great, wracking sobs shake Harry's body. His cool tears pressed into her neck.
"Oh, Harry, I'm here for you Harry," Ruth soothed.
Ruth ran her hands across his broad shoulders, down thickly muscled arms, and up again to his back, where she began rubbing comforting circles.
"Shhh, Harry."
Up now to his thick neck, massaging him, feeling the roll of fat, and the soft downy hair that she loved. As shocked as she was to see him go to pieces in her arms… oh, the pleasure that suffused her, at being the one to hold this great man as he went to pieces.
When his sobs subsided, she ventured to ask who Bill was.
"He was your fellow officer in Ireland, wasn't he?" she asked quietly.
"Yes. Undercover. 1978," he mumbled, face still pressed into her shoulder.
"God, I was eight then," Ruth joked.
"I was twenty-five. Just finished training. Jane had had Catherine. Bill had been the best man at our wedding. We met in the army, applied for Five together."
"What happened over there?"
Harry was quiet for a few seconds.
"I fucked up. He was… captured. Tortured. With a blowtorch. I identified the body."
"And seeing those poor men today brought it all back."
Harry shrugged. "I dream about it sometimes, anyway."
"Oh, my poor Harry," Ruth breathed, kissing his crown.
Who is there to comfort you, usually? Ruth's heard about his women. Harry's always spoken about within the service as a ladies man. Ruth's only met one of them, though. She can't quite imagine sharp-tonged Juliet managing it.
Ruth grasped Harry to her breast, held him like a child.
"Ruth. Sweet girl," he choked out.
And that's when she felt him pressing wet kisses into her chest. And then she realised his erection was pushing against her thigh.
"H-H-Harry," Ruth gasped.
She couldn't think. She couldn't think.