Don't know if this is a little too similar to the last chapter but see what you think?
"Oh," she said, surprised.
"Not handsome enough?" he asked, tongue firmly in cheek.
"No, it's just …" she muttered, pointing at the beard.
He rubbed his chin, "Not quite ready to get rid of it yet," he admitted, "not sure why."
She wanted to suggest that he was hiding; hiding from himrself, from her, from the memory of those that had done all this to him. She chose to smile instead.
"Well, it's very fetching. And a bit more …"
"Me?"
"Yes, Harry, definitely more you."
He brushed his hand through his close cut hair, considering himself a little more human.
"Do you feel up to some more fresh air?" she asked.
"That would be good," he smiled.
And so she took him to the sea.
The shale that they could hear from her house being pounded every day was in front of them now. It was a somewhat sublime sea and for once a somewhat hushed sound.
He sucked in the deepest of breaths, lungs filled with salt and seaweed.
"Better?" she asked.
"Considerably," he nodded.
They looked out over the gentle waves.
"I used to come here and think of you somewhere across the sea," she admitted nervously.
He looked hard at her.
His first response was to tell her that it was the very same thought that had helped him survive, but his second was to recall all he had endured and thus his face clouded and he said something else.
"I presume Gavrik and Elena left after signing the deal?"
His face was not the only one to cloud over.
"It became a little complicated," was all she ventured.
"In what way? He didn't find out about her?"
"I'll tell you later."
"No, tell me now, Ruth."
"Please, Harry," she snapped, "for once can this not be about her."
He stared in surprise, nodded somewhat reluctantly and gazed back out to sea.
"We should go before you get cold," she muttered and walked away.
He didn't feel cold.
On returning home she went straight to the kitchen.
"Tea?"
"Please."
She stood filling the kettle.
He moved towards her. She had spoken only a few words to him during the short journey back. He picked up two clean mugs.
"Ruth…?"
She clicked the ignition on the cooker and the gas 'woofed' on.
The cups hit the kitchen slate floor in an explosion of crockery.
Harry was staring at the gas ring. His jaw set. The sweat rising on his brow.
She quickly turned it off and risked taking his hand.
He did not move.
"Harry…"
She waited until his eyes dragged themselves away from where the flame had briefly burnt to find her.
"The sun's come out, why don't you go out and sit in the garden. I'll bring our tea out there?"
He looked uncertain, glancing down at this feet and the shards of china that surrounded them.
"I'll clear that up, don't worry. Go on," her hand ran up his arm and squeezed his elbow as she nodded towards the windows.
"Sorry," he muttered and stepped away.
She didn't know whether to scream for him, or cry for him, instead she swept up the broken pieces, made sure he was nowhere near her as she lit the ring once more and made them a cup of tea.
She could see his shoulders hunched over in the garden chair as she approached. She was about to speak when she noticed the strange rise and fall of his back. Slowly and quietly she approached, putting the cups down before she reached him. She could hear his breathing; the shallow breaths bringing him no oxygen. She could see his tense white knuckles clenched over his face, his nails digging into his forehead which was covered with sweat.
She made no sound, but pulled up a chair to face him, she dragged it close and sat only a few centimeters from him and waited.
He knew she was there, he could feel her; feel the calming, reassuring, practical presence which tried to pierce the panic.
"It'll go away," he gasped.
She sat still until his breath had almost returned to normal, until he wiped his sleeve across his brow and released a deep lungful of air.
"I need to go back to work, Ruth," he pleaded, "to get past this. I need to keep busy…not think."
She nodded slowly, hoping for inspiration, finding only deflection.
"Let me see what the doctor says tomorrow," she said.
He looked at her softly.
"In the meantime you can make dinner. That should keep you busy."
That night the nightmare came at 3.15.
She wrapped her arms around him as she had before. She whispered the same words and she breathed with him. She stroked the still bearded face, pulled up the duvet and then she turned for the door.
"Stay with me," came a frightened voice.
She glanced back.
"Please, Ruth."
She crossed back to the bed and climbed under the covers. They lay side by side until she heard peace return to him and then she too fell asleep.