Quiet me: A drabble about one character trying to calm another down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

Her heart beat like that of a marathon runner after a race, fast and frenzied; her pulse racing. Ruth Evershed sat up quickly, gulping the air in her hotel room, her hand on her chest as sweat dripped from her face.

She was no stranger to nightmares since her return from exile, but never had they been quite as vivid as this latest one. For once, it wasn't about George or Nico; no past event regurgitated to haunt her tonight. No, tonight it was one from a possible future, which had chilled her to the bone and instilled her with uncharacteristic panic.

She needed to see him, if she was ever going to get to sleep tonight.

She quietly opened the door, and slipped down the corridor to his room. She'd protested at having to attend this Anglo-Russian conference with him, it coming just weeks after she'd turned down his proposal of marriage. But, as with Havensworth so many years ago, she had been overruled. He said he needed her analytical skills to sift through the chaff of Russian diplomats, searching for former FSB agents who might still hold a grudge. Now though, her dream having left her with an unquenchable fear, she was grateful she'd been made to come… their proximity was a relief.

She knocked lightly on the door to his room; and after a few moments, she heard him approach.

"Ruth, what's wrong?" he asked as he opened the door to be met by her tear-streaked face.

A lump in her throat prevented speech, so she merely shook her head and reached out for him, allowing her tears to flow faster.

Harry's arms instinctively wrapped tightly around her and he held her close as sobs wracked her trembling body. He gently stroked her hair and soothed her with soft words. Though he had no clue what had happened, he knew only that he had to protect her from whatever was causing her pain, as his own heart ached with concern for her. He continued rocking her comfortingly even after she fell into an exhausted sleep.

The faint rays of the early morning peeked through the curtains to fall across the bed of Harry's hotel room. A distant chirping outside signalled that the world was waking, though he had been awake for a while. Lying on his left side, his head was propped up by his hand as his elbow rested on the pillow. A few inches away, his analyst slept on her right side, signs of dried tears on her now somewhat relaxed features. Harry's free hand absently stroked her hair in reassurance, concern still evident on his tired face.

Ruth shifted slightly and her eyes fluttered open. Harry stopped stroking her hair and reached to clasp her hand in his. "How are you feeling?"

Ruth didn't answer, simply looking at him with uncertain eyes. He squeezed her hand and they moved into a sitting position, never breaking contact.

"I'm scared Harry," she admitted quietly.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Ruth nodded, unsure how to explain.

"George?" he asked warily. Ruth hadn't told him of the nightmares, of her disturbed sleep patterns, but when he'd mentioned to Beth that her flatmate looked tired and ill, she had informed him about them.

Ruth shook her head, still hesitant to discuss the events of her dream.

"I can't help if you don't tell me."

"It was about you," she whispered, her eyes fixed resolutely on the wringing hands in her lap.

"Me?"

She nodded. "It was here at the conference, you were shot and killed." Her posture stiffened as she relived her nightmare, babbling her way through. "There was blood everywhere, so much blood. I'd tried to warn you but you wouldn't listen to me… you were still angry that I'd turned you down and then you died! And I realised I'd never get the chance to tell you I was sorry because you were gone Harry. Just gone."

"Ruth, you don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I hurt you. I said no."

"I won't insult you by denying that – I was hurt, but I realise now that proposing to you at a funeral was not my finest hour. If you'll let me, I'd like to explain why I did it." Ruth nodded. "Ros' death made me realise how fragile our lives can be. I didn't want either of us to be alone. We've both given so much to the service; it was time to take something back for ourselves."

"It still can be Harry."

"Really?"

"I don't mean marriage… not yet at least. But I'm willing to admit I was wrong when I said we couldn't be more together than we are now."

"Where would you like to start?" Harry asked gently, not wanting to do or say anything that could jeopardise this new ground they seemed to be making.

"You could start by kissing me," Ruth replied, a slight blush tinging her cheeks.

Harry wasn't going to turn an opportunity like that down, so he leaned in and placed his lips on hers. There was still much for them to talk about, but this was a pretty good start.