Sorry, this took longer than expected. Unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine.
Ruth shifts onto her left side and rearranges the covers. She wants to sleep, needs to sleep, but her mind is still racing, processing the evening's events, analysing every word, every gesture. A faint noise catches her attention, distracting her from her thoughts. At first she thinks it's just her imagination but then she hears the sound again, louder this time. Her blood runs cold as she realises it's Harry, and he's calling her name.
She finds him sitting bolt upright, shaking and sweating, and knows immediately what is wrong.
"It's all right, Harry. You were dreaming." She goes to take hold of his hands but he pulls away from her, his head still full of the images his subconscious has conjured up. "It's me, Harry. It's Ruth."
"Ruth? I-I thought you were…"
"It was a dream, Harry."
His mind begins to clear and he can finally make sense of what she's saying. "A dream?"
She nods and then squeezes his hand. "I'll get you some water."
"No, don't go."
His grip on her arm is strong and she has to stop herself from wincing. "It's OK, Harry. I'll just be a minute."
She holds the glass for him as he drinks because his hands are trembling so much. Water dribbles down his chin and when she sweeps it away with her thumb, he mutters an apology.
"Doesn't matter," she says, placing the glass down on the table. "What were you dreaming about?"
He shakes his head and looks away from her.
"Please tell me. I heard you saying my name."
There is silence, and he seems to have some kind of debate with himself. When he does eventually speak, he stumbles over the words. "I-it's you…in m-my dreams. You lying on the mortuary slab and not some stranger. You're dead…and th-there's nothing I can do about it."
This is hard for her to hear, and not just because of the obvious upset it causes Harry. She'd found this part of her plan - passing off some poor soul as her - difficult to reconcile herself with. Adam had been matter-of-fact: 'If you want this to work, Ruth, really work, there has to be a body.' So she'd gone along with it and tried not to think too much about what they were doing. In the cold, grey dampness of the early morning, when her resolve had almost failed her, Zaf had been reassuring, promising that, afterwards, they would do all they could to discreetly, and correctly, identify the stranger.
She's brought back to the here and now by Harry's voice.
"I dream about other things too," he says, "things I've seen, things I've done. Not just recently but from years ago…"
He falls silent so she moves closer to him, sliding an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against her. She knows he won't say anymore, at least not tonight.
"Come on." She stands up. "I'm not leaving you here on your own." She tugs on his hand and, reluctantly, he gets to his feet.
He follows her to the bedroom, hanging back as they near the bed. "I should put something else on."
"Don't worry about that. Just get into bed."
He walks slowly towards her and she reaches out for him, grasping his arms. "Come on, it's fine," she reassures.
As he sits down on the edge of the mattress, the light from the lamp illuminates marks on his chest. Fresh scars, the telltale redness of the skin advertising their newness. He knows she's seen them and he waits, silently, for her questions.
"How…who did this to you?"
"You don't want to know."
"But Harry-"
"Please don't ask," he pleads.
She relents, unwilling to argue, and gets into bed.
It's strange, lying next to him; her dreams finally made reality but not as she'd hoped. She closes her eyes and attempts to find the rest she needs.
A little while later, Harry is sure he can hear Ruth crying. He says her name but the only reply he gets is a small sniff. He rolls onto his side and tentatively stretches out a hand to touch her arm.
"Ruth?"
"I'm all right," she replies, but her voice sounds ragged from the effort of trying to hide her tears.
He moves nearer to her, close enough so he can feel the warmth of her body, and waits. Eventually she turns to face him.
"Hold me," she whispers.
She clings tightly to him and weeps while he murmurs words of comfort to her. When she finally relaxes in his arms, her breathing soft and steady, he lightly kisses the side of her face, and wonders what the morning will bring.
---
After she has showered and dressed, Ruth spends a few minutes watching Harry sleep. She's grateful he didn't ask the reason for her tears; she doesn't yet have the words to explain.
She gently pulls the bedclothes up, her fingers lingering on the uppermost scar on his chest. He stirs, slowly opens his eyes, and squints at her.
It takes a few moments for the haze of sleep to recede enough for him to focus. "You're dressed."
Ruth smiles. "I have to go to work but I'll be back about one o'clock."
"OK."
"You, er, you know it's Christmas Eve," she asks, nervously.
He nods.
"Well, later this afternoon," she continues, "I'm helping out at the Community Centre. They provide Christmas dinner for anyone who wants to come along. Anyone who's lonely or hasn't got much money to spare. I can't not go, I promised…"
She's clearly embarrassed by her admission and Harry watches as her restless hands move from the covers of the bed to her jacket. She fiddles with a loose thread, twisting it around the button it's hanging from.
"You're still the same," he says, gently. "Still thinking of other people."
The slight tilt of her head as she acknowledges his comment is so beautifully familiar it makes his breath catch.
"Not quite the same, Harry."
The room is very still, the only noise the tick-tick of the radiator as it warms up.
Ruth smoothes her hand over the bedcovers. "This afternoon, if you want to come along, you're most welcome. You don't have to but I won't be back until late."
"I'd love to go."
"Good." She stands up. "I really need to get to work, sorry."
"See you later."
She gives him a small wave and mouths 'bye' before shutting the bedroom door.
---
Ruth hesitates as she puts the key in the lock. All morning she has tried not to give credence to the idea that he will be gone by the time she gets home. As she closes the door, she realises she can smell fresh coffee.
"Hello," she says, as she enters the kitchen.
"Good timing," Harry replies, giving her a shy, boyish smile. "Would you like a coffee?"
She nods. "Please."
"I hope you don't mind but I made myself a sandwich."
"No, I don't mind." She sits at the table, quietly assessing his appearance. He's wearing clean clothes, has shaved and looks more like his old self; a realisation that provokes regret for missed opportunities.
"I thought I should tidy myself up a bit," Harry says, fully aware of the scrutiny he's being subjected to. "If I'm going to come with you this afternoon." He turns around to look at her. "That is still all right?"
"Of course it is."
"Good." He sets a mug of coffee down on the table in front of her. "Want half?" he asks, pointing towards the sandwich.
"Thanks."
He takes a sip of his drink, discreetly watching her over the rim of his cup. "How did you end up offering to help at this Christmas dinner?"
"Sophie, one of my work colleagues, told me about it. We were discussing Christmas plans. I think she was wondering why I wasn't going back to the UK or having anyone to stay." Ruth pauses. "She said it was better than being on my own."
Her words do not pass unnoticed but Harry chooses not to remark upon them. "Doesn't Sophie have any family?"
"She has lots of family, I think that's the problem," Ruth replies, laughing softly. "She prefers to do something for people who appreciate it. I can understand that."
"So can I."
She looks at him for a moment before speaking. "I need to get changed. We'll have to leave soon; there's quite a lot to do at the community centre and never enough volunteers."
"So they'll be grateful for an extra pair of hands," Harry says, collecting up their empty cups.
"Yes, they will." And she'll be grateful for his company.
Thanks for reading. More soon…