It's late, past midnight, and she can't sleep, or rather, she can't go back to sleep. She's had a terrible nightmare and had woken tangled in the bedclothes, her pyjamas soaked with sweat, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in pants. She'd been dreaming about him again, her assailant, only this time he'd succeeded in getting what he'd wanted from her, and as he'd pushed into her, his face had changed and suddenly he was Harry. The shock had woken her and she'd felt sick, dashing to the bathroom and reaching the toilet in the nick of time. She'd slid to the floor after that, curling up in a ball and sobbing in anguish as she'd fought to push the images away. And that's how David had found her, no doubt woken by the noise she'd made.

"Ruth?" he'd whispered her name softly from behind the door that hadn't quite closed when she'd pushed it to on entering, rapping his knuckles gently against it and pushing it slowly open when she'd failed to respond. Then seeing her distress, he'd stepped into the room, murmuring, "Jesus, Ruth! Are you all right? What's wrong?"

She hadn't been able to answer him, and it was only his quiet declaration that he'll get her mother that had made her force herself to speak, saying rather horsely, "No, don't. I don't want to worry her."

"Ruth," he'd frowned, dropping to one knee in front of her and reaching forward to gently stroke her upper arm, "you're not well. I have to get your mother."

"It's just," she'd stammered, making an effort to sit up and pull herself together. "I'm fine. It was only a nightmare."

"A nightmare that made you physically sick?" he'd replied dubiously, his frown deepening. "What's really going on, Ruth? Are you...? Christ!" he'd exclaimed and stood up suddenly, opening the medicine cabinet above the sink and quickly scanning its contents as he'd added, "You didn't... take anything, did you?" His eyes had been almost wild as he'd turned back to look at her.

"No," she'd shaken her head, puzzled by his reaction for a moment before she'd understood. "No, David," she'd said more firmly. "I wouldn't do that. I didn't take anything, I promise. I'm not trying to... to..." she'd tailed off unable to finish the sentence, remembering Peter, her step-brother, how he'd ended his life and how it had almost broken her step-father. She'd stood up on shaky legs then, and without knowing quite who'd moved first, she'd found herself in his strong embrace. "It really was just a nightmare," she'd mumbled into his chest.

"You've had them before, haven't you?" he'd asked softly after a moment. "I've heard you sobbing in the night. There must be a reason for them, Ruth. Do you want to talk about it? I want to help. Tell me what to do to help you."

She'd started to cry then and he'd held her for long moments until she'd quietened once more, murmuring reassuring words against her hair and firmly stroking her back. She couldn't remember the last time he'd held her like this and it had felt so good. He'd been a good step-father really, despite the fact that she'd harboured so much resentment for him initially. Then, when she'd been fourteen and home for the summer holidays, her mother had cut herself quite badly with the pruning shears and he'd been so wonderful, reassuring and steady, in control of the situation and able to deal with both his wife and step-daughter's panic quite brilliantly. That had been the first time she'd let him comfort her while her mother had been getting stitched up, and he'd been so loving and attentive towards her mother afterwards that, by the end of that summer, her resentment had simply dissolved. They hadn't grown particularly close, seeing as they were both somewhat shy, cautious, and reserved, but after that, she'd known she could trust him and rely on him if she ever needed help, and there had been a handful of times when she'd turned to him instead of her mother, who tended to worry a lot, and he'd never let her down.

"Sorry," she'd murmured as she'd pulled back eventually, pulling out several pink tissues from the box by the sink and wiping her eyes and nose.

He'd smiled, murmuring, "How about I go make us a cup of tea while you get yourself sorted, eh?"

She'd nodded and watched him turn towards the door and slip out, closing it softly behind him. Then she'd flushed the loo and stripped before getting in the shower, and it had been only as she'd closed her eyes and felt the hot water stinging her face that she'd managed to recall that, in her dream, Harry's eyes had been soft and adoring, not harsh and predatory as that man's had been, and she'd suddenly felt herself begin to calm at the realisation that, even in a nightmare, Harry would never hurt her. A deep yearning for him, to see those soft, hazel eyes looking at her like that again had sprung up inside her then, and she'd almost jumped out of the shower to ring him before she'd realised that it was late and he'd probably be sleeping. So she'd got out and dried herself slowly, crossing the landing to her room wrapped in her towel, locating and slipping on some clean pyjamas and her slippers, and going downstairs to the kitchen.

She'd sipped her sweet tea and munched on more shortbread biscuits gratefully for several minutes in silence before she'd asked, "Is Mum still asleep?"

"Yes," he'd smiled. "You know her. Nothing short of an explosion would wake her." She'd smiled at the joke and finished her biscuit, washing it down with another mouthful of tea before he'd coaxed gently, "Tell me what's happened, Ruth."

So she'd began to tell David about it, not the full story, but a simplified version of it, making it sound as if the man had just happened to target her somewhere in London. He'd been a good listener and it had felt good to share her story in a safe place, in her own time, and in her own way with someone who cares for her, rather than for the benefit of MI-5 during a debriefing conducted in an interview room at Thames House just after her ordeal, regardless of how much she'd known that Adam and Fiona do care and had been more than a little sympathetic and concerned for her.

"You've got PTSD, Ruth," he'd said gently after a few moments of silence during which he'd been holding her hand tightly in his own. "You need to seek professional help with it."

She'd nodded, knowing that what he'd said was true and yet dreading seeing the MI-5 psychologist she'd need to visit once she returned to work. Perhaps she should see someone outside work too, she'd thought as he'd gently pulled on her hand, coaxing her to lean into his embrace. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Ruth," he'd murmured against her hair as he'd stroked her back, making her feel safe and loved again.

"You won't tell, Mum, will you?" she'd asked. "I don't want her to worry."

"I won't," he'd reassured her. "Did you go to the police, Ruth?"

"I did," she'd replied. "He's... in jail. Harry made sure of that."

"Harry?" he'd asked.

"My..." she'd hesitated. "He's my boss, but... he's also my... boyfriend."

"That's nice," he'd smiled against her hair. "I'm happy for you, Ruth. I hope he... took it well. What happened, I mean. I hope he was supportive."

She'd nodded and pulled back to look at him, saying, "He's been incredibly supportive."

"That's good," he'd replied, his blue eyes soft and kind.

Then they'd talked of other things while they'd finished their tea, but before they'd gone back upstairs to bed, he'd said earnestly, "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, Ruth, anything at all. And let me know how you get on. I'll be..." he'd paused, smiled, and then added, "worried about you."

She'd chuckled at that before reaching up to kiss his cheek in thanks as she'd promised to let him know. Then murmuring good night, they'd slipped back into their respective rooms and that's where she finds herself now, sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at her phone, debating with herself if it's too late to ring Harry; she so wants to hear his voice.

Eventually, she can take it no more, so she texts, 'Hi. Are you awake?' remembering their previous exchange of messages with a small smile and hoping against hope that the answer is yes.

The reply is almost immediate. 'Hello, Ruth. How are you?'

'Fine. And you?' She types quickly, so relieved that he's not sleeping.

'Fine. Busy... And worried about you.' Her heart soars and she can't help smiling at those words. He's been thinking and worrying about her; he hasn't forgotten her.

'Don't worry. Mum and David are taking good care of me... I miss you.' She hesitates but then quickly presses send before she has time to reconsider and delete the last sentence.

There's a moment's delay this time before she gets his reply, but it's infinitely worth the extra wait and almost reduces her to tears. 'Me too. Ain't no mountain high enough, Ruth.' The song starts running through her head and she smiles as she realises what he's trying to say.

"Listen, baby! Ain't no mountain high,
Ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough, baby.
If you need me, call me, no matter where you are,
No matter how far."

So she dials his number.

"Hello, Ruth," he murmurs, his voice husky and warm.

"Harry," she breathes, fighting to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. She really mustn't keep breaking down in front of him. "It's so good to hear your voice."

"It's always here, Ruth," he replies, "just a phone-call away. You can ring me any time you like. I'll be here... for you."

"I didn't want to wake you," she says softly.

"Sleeping's overrated," he murmurs, "and I'm way past any help that beauty sleep has to offer." She laughs at that and suddenly wishes that she was with him and able to touch and hold him, to see his beautiful eyes and smile. "Why are you awake at this time, Ruth?" she hears him ask softly.

"I couldn't sleep," she sighs. "I..." she hesitates, shaking her head to clear the images from her nightmare that have suddenly jumped to the forefront of her mind.

"Bad dreams?" he asks gently, startling and alarming her a little until she remembers that he's been through this type of experience too.

"Yes," she breathes. "They're awful and tonight..." She stops herself just in time.

"Tonight?" he asks.

"It..." she hesitates, "it was much worse. But you don't want to hear about that. Why aren't you sleeping? Are you still at the Grid? What's happened? Do you need me back at work?"

"No, Ruth," he replies. "You take as much time as you need. We'll manage. Besides nothing terrible has happened and I am, in fact, at home... but I couldn't sleep either."

"Bad dreams?" she asks softly.

"Partly, but that's nothing new," he answers.

"You have them often?" she dares to ask, relishing the freedom that a telephone conversation offers because they can't see each other.

"Fairly regularly," he murmurs. There's a pause and then he adds, "Most nights actually."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispers, wishing again that he were near and she could kiss him.

"I reckon it's a good thing," he replies. "It proves that I still have a sliver of a conscience left and a not entirely blackened soul."

"You have a beautiful soul, Harry," she says softly, "and you're a wonderful man." Her face heats up in embarrassment as she realises what she's just said, and she begins to chew on her lower lip nervously when he's silent for long moments.

"Thank you, Ruth," he eventually replies, his voice sounding rather gruff, and she realises that he must have been really quite touched by her words just now. She wants to tell him how wonderful she thinks he is and how much she loves him, but she's scared he'll think her naïve and that her feelings aren't reciprocated, so she says no more. It seems he's at a loss as to what to say too, however, and there are several moments of silence during which all she can hear is his gentle breathing in her ear and the rapid beating of her own heart.

Eventually, she murmurs, "I'm coming home tomorrow. I'll catch a train after lunch."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes," she replies. "I'll ring Adam in the morning to arrange my return to the Grid. I want to start right away."

"Not tomorrow, Ruth," he objects. "Take another day at least. Come back on Wednesday or Thursday."

"And what am I supposed to deduce from that, Harry?" she teases lightly. "I take a few days off and already you've replaced me and no longer need me at work?"

"You know that's not true, Ruth," he murmurs. "You're unique and irreplaceable. We're just worried about you."

"We?" she frowns.

"Adam and I. The team in general," he explains.

"I'm fine, Harry," she replies. "Just a little... rattled, but I'll be fine soon. I... I can't wait to see you."

"Me too, Ruth," he murmurs, his voice deep and husky now. "I've missed you more than I can say."

His words make her heart flutter in her chest, so grasping her courage with both hands, she whispers, "I thought you might... ring me... you know, while I've been away."

"I wanted to, Ruth. I just didn't want to... intrude," he replies carefully. "I assumed you left London to... give yourself some space. So I tried to respect that... You have no idea how hard it's been to do."

"Thank you," she nods though he can't see her, feeling her heart flood with relief. "I did need... a change of scene and I needed... well, I needed my mum."

"I can understand that," he replies and she can tell he's smiling.

"But that doesn't mean I wouldn't have liked to hear your voice, or even to just receive a text message or two," she smiles. "I rather enjoy texts now."

He chuckles softly and replies, "Duly noted, my Ruth."

It's the first time he's called her 'his' and she can't help how her heart skips several beats and she wants to squeal in delight. She is his after all - his and only his. She has been for some time now, and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from telling him that and so much more. "What are you wearing, Harry?" she asks instead. The silence that greets her words makes her realise what she's said and she feels herself flush as she cringes with embarrassment before she hastens to explain, "I didn't mean that like it sounded. I just wanted to know so I can picture you in my head. You know, in your suit and tie or the more casual clothes you wore the other night or, I don't know... pyjamas or... Oh bugger, I'm making this worse. I'll shut up now." By this time, she can hear him quietly chuckling to himself and she can't help but smile in spite of her embarrassment.

"I am actually wearing very little at the moment, Ruth," he replies and she can hear the amusement and teasing in his voice. "I was in bed, but I'd just come down to get a drink, seeing as I couldn't sleep, when you rung."

"And now I won't be able to sleep," she mutters darkly, and this time, his laughter is deep and rich.

"I, on the other hand, will sleep like a baby," he smiles into the phone.

"Don't be so sure about that," she replies. "I'll be texting you every minute until I fall asleep."

"Then I hope you dream of me when you do, Ruth," he purrs.

She hesitates for a moment before replying softly, "As long as it's a nice dream this time."

He's silent for long moments before he murmurs softly, "It will be, Ruth. I promise."

"Harry, I know you're good," she sighs in mild exasperation, "but you're not that good. What makes you think that you can make and keep a promise like that?"

"Because you rung me," he smiles. "And that changes everything."

"It does?" she frowns.

"Yes," he smiles. "Now... sweet dreams, Ruth, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Harry. Sweet dreams," she sighs.

"They will be," he murmurs before he disconnects the call, leaving her staring at her phone for several moments and smiling softly as she recalls their conversation before she turns to place the phone on the bedside table. Then she climbs into bed and snuggles under the covers as she closes her eyes, the blissful smile never leaving her lips. Her final coherent thought before she falls into a deep, restful sleep is to wonder why the hell she hadn't called Harry every night before bed.