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Harry's House 11.00pm approx

Waiting for Jane to reply Harry admitted to himself that actually it didn't much matter how she responded. For him the main issue had ceased to be whether or not he was going to rescue her from the clutches of the appalling Robin: he was. With or without her consent Robin was going to get his comeuppance. Harry wasn't going to waste time and thought attempting to convince himself that his motives were entirely chivalrous, but any actions he indulged in would be more on account of the maltreated Jane than motivated by his unexpected opportunity for personal triumph. If revenge was a dish best eaten cold, Robin and all his works had been stored in Harry's emotional deep freeze for around twenty five years and counting. For once patience was a virtue that might just garner an unscrupulous reward.

No: examined objectively, the real difficulty lay, not in extracting Jane from a relationship that he could only characterise as abusive, that would be easy: the major difficulty lay in finding a way that would enable her to emerge, if not exactly trailing clouds of Chanel Number Five, at least with her credibility intact. Harry had carved out his formidable reputation largely through his uncanny knack of successfully second guessing what the enemy would do next. Consequently he was under no illusion as to the reaction of a thwarted Robin. The probability was that the amount of shit he was about to dump over Jane would, under other circumstances, keep the Royal Parks supplied with enough manure to last them for the rest of the decade. It didn't take much imagination to know the line that Robin would attempt to spin: unsupportive wife, career focussed, possibly depressive, hostile to his efforts to help her, with her final move being to accuse him of cheating, unfairly of course. Well this time Harry was blowing the whistle, that plausible bastard wasn't going to get away with his lies and smarm, if it was the last thing Harry ever did. For preference, of course, he'd prefer it if any attempt smear Jane was the last thing Robin ever did. Unfortunately even if she agreed to Harry's proposition she was likely to baulk at extreme measures, which was probably just as well. Harry was so angry with Robin he needed someone to keep him grounded.

In that assumption he was quite correct. For Jane, recovering from her odyssey of revelation, the main question was exactly what punishment Harry was proposing to inflict upon her erring husband. Her words, when they came, proved once more to a musing Harry that she knew his thought processes a little too well for comfort, and also that her recall of the less pleasant episodes of their marriage meant she was not deceived by the suggestion she had an option.

"Harry, don't insult me by pretending that I have a choice. If I say no, you'll go ahead anyway."

So far, so good. Now to check just how far he could go. "I'll take that as a yes. Tell me would you really object to me having Robin murdered?"

"Harry!" He took that as a yes as well, although her immediate response lacked quite the depth of shock he'd expected until she continued. "I don't want you in trouble on my account."

Harry hastened to reassure her on that point as he replied persuasively. "It would be untraceable, just an unfortunate accident in a personal eroticism session involving an orange and noose. The dangers are well documented." Adding as a semi jocular afterthought, "Damn I'd forgotten. You'd have to play the grieving widow. Well I'll just have come up with another idea."

She hadn't taken his first statement entirely seriously and from the casual tone with which he made the fruity suggestion she'd assumed that Harry was joking. Then she looked at his face. The sympathetic listener of a few moments ago was now presenting as the forbidding head of the Grid. Harry, having read her mind said, "It's alright Jane. I only kill when it's absolutely unavoidable, but he deserves some grief after the abuse he's heaped on you."

"That's a bit strong Harry."

"So how else would you describe blackmailing you into staying with him? Presenting your ideas as his; not supporting you either professionally or personally with Rebecca's illness and then cheating on you." Before she could produce some unflattering and nearly true comparisons he went on, "And Jane, you can make all the comments you wish about my behaviour when we were married but I wouldn't allow any of my female officers to stay in such a relationship if I could help it."

While Jane accepted Harry's word that he would avoid murder the expression on his face had been a salutary reminder of the difficulties his job had always presented her with. Her professional life consisted of looking into imaginary worlds peopled by poetry, governed by literary conventions and structure, to be deconstructed, debated and interpreted at leisure. His consisted of seeing the real world governed by violence and chaos, grasping at half truths and fragmentary visions of horrors. It was a world that forced him to either perform appalling deeds, or just as culpably, authorise actions that most right minded individuals would be repelled by. Actions committed to preserve the freedom of those very citizens who would condemn him outright.

That had always been her emotional stumbling block. Harry never gossiped about his working life but she'd pieced together a great deal. She'd never really been able to come to terms with the thought that those hands that would hold their children and caress her body so sensually in the night would, when he left the house, deliver death and murder. Hangman's hands covered with invisible blood. But was she any better? Revolted as Jane was by much that Harry did been forced into, she wasn't about to argue him out of tackling Robin; or doing whatever was necessary to rescue their daughter; or keep himself safe from the CIA. She was now beginning to understand a little of the internal war he must have fought with himself for years. And were the younger inhabitants of the Grid similarly conflicted? How did Erin answer when Rosie asked Mummy if she'd had a nice day at work? 'Yes darling I murdered a nasty man, now time for your bedtime story, 'The Famous Five defuse a bomb'.

Her venture into the convoluted psychology of Spooks world was disturbed by Harry's next words. "Jane I'm sorry to ask this but ..." From his pause he was struggling, which was unusual to say the least with Harry, who was rarely short of a suitable phrase. When he continued she knew why, "No easy way to ask, but your sex life with Robin...from what you said it began to go downhill, can you tell me when?"

Jane practically screamed her indignation. "What! And you said you disliked perving!"

It wasn't a question he'd have appreciated had their roles been reversed but he needed an answer. "I'm asking because I have to. If you can pinpoint when Robin changed his, shall we say his approach to you, it is just possible that we can work out when to look from." At her uncertain face he added truthfully, " Frankly the thought of you with him makes me ill, it always did."

Jane wasn't mollified. "Well now you know how I felt about Juliet and the faceless others."

He'd left himself open to that response, although as his face didn't flicker as he added. "That's as may be. Robin's sessions with Smoochie Babe may just be the tip of a pornographic iceberg. We need a date to start searching from."

Jane thought for a moment, reliving some fairly grinding experiences, "I'd place it as shortly after the dispute about my retiring. Up to that point things had been fairly normal, a little routine maybe." Relief, combined with the wine having made her slightly drunk, she decided that if Harry wanted information, he'd get it, even if it did make him feel queasy. Mouth in action before modesty was in gear she opened her lips. "Now I think about it he began to suffer from wilt around that time, not so much an iceberg, more a semi defrosted ice pop that I definitely didn't want to suck."

Harry was wishing he could rescind his question, that vision was even worse than the one of Robin and Smoochie Babe getting it together. Ignoring the bile that rose in his throat he nodded, "So we can probably trace the start of the problems to around the time you had the run in with the Demon Headmaster."

Jane was looking extremely dubious, "It's a wide timeframe Harry. Can't we just go with recent events? I mean you have other things to worry about, such as tracing our daughter and saving your own neck. I'm not sure that my divorce comes under the heading of things MI5's assets should be used for."

Harry face quirked a little. "Catherine will get the priority I promise you, but pornography can lead to serious crime, which is part of my remit."

Jane's disbelief in this excuse was vocal. "What Robin as a porn star? You didn't see the video. It was more like a Carry On film crossed with a sexed up St Trinian's."

"You never know what's behind these things." Watching Jane smirk at his choice of phrase he briefly wondered whether he should have rationed her booze. "I doubt that you have full details of Robin's entire activities, work and social, so I need you to write down everything you know, email addresses, his employers, places."

"Harry, are you seriously telling me that you couldn't find this out anyway?"

"It'll speed up the process and I want to find out as much as possible before Robin begins to suspect what you may be up to. He's bound to try tracking you down after the events of today. He's already rung Catherine's flat and thanks to our American cousins suspects my involvement." Remembering where else Jane might reasonably have bolted to, he asked," Which reminds me, did you ring your sister as part of Catherine's timeline investigation?"

"Yes, but I told her that I'd be moving around for a few days so not to be concerned. Besides which, Robin won't be able to track me at once. He's supposed to be at a conference tomorrow – a genuine one, I checked, so he'll be tied up..." She caught Harry's eye as he tried to suppress his mirth. "I meant – oh do stop laughing – for the next four days or so."

Harry thought it unlikely that Robin would just accept Rebecca's word. He'd suspect her of lying to protect Jane. And rightly so, both sisters were fiercely protective of one another and similar in temperament, although in his opinion Rebecca, while possessed of a Jane style tongue, had skimped on the brains and charm. No sense in worrying Jane further tonight but he'd have to try to keep tabs on Robin. He worked in the same world as Jane and some mutual contact might just give him a clue as to her potential whereabouts.

Thrusting a hefty wad of writing paper and pen into her hand Harry issued his instructions. "Good, at least he's out of our hair for the immediate future. You write down what you can remember while I do the dishes."

Seeing her sit up with the intent of helping he shook his head, "No, you stay off that ankle. Nat insisted that you rest it." He stymied her forthcoming protest before it was uttered, "I presume you don't want Dimitri pushing you to tomorrow's meeting in a wheelchair."

With that he began to collect up the crockery and vanished. Immured in his kitchen, soothed by the routine of washing and drying the dishes, and no longer distracted by the need to tiptoe around Jane's sensibilities he began to seriously consider how approach Operation Robin. Harry knew where his own skills were deficient and it was already obvious that he'd need to hack into several computers and voicemails to obtain the information needed to bring Robin down. Also, he thought with a groan, he'd need to contact Graham. The girl had to be identified and the location of the assignation Graham had stumbled upon would be useful. It also wouldn't do any harm to discover more about the Wonder Head while they were searching. If he and Robin proved to be in cahoots over anything that threatened to affect Jane adversely Harry would happily extend the limits of his punitive measures. In his current mood Harry, who'd seen the effects at first hand, felt inclined to take a flame thrower to the men who had treated Jane so badly. Trained to except the worst, and rarely disappointed in his expectations, he also suspected that Robin's manoeuvrings may produce more shocks than Jane anticipated. He was torn, the worse the better as far as he was concerned, but Jane may well feel differently. At least he could ensure, that whatever the final revelations threw up, she would no longer be coping without support.

Jane, while trawling her memory, felt unexpectedly relaxed about having confided in Harry. The barrier of secrecy had now been removed and since unlike most of her acquaintance Harry was quite willing to believe the worst of Robin, she had not been forced combat the prospect of unexpressed confidante doubt. Scribbling away she wondered what exactly Harry was planning and whether she really wanted to know, as she'd said earlier in the evening ignorance was sometimes a blessing. About ten minutes later when Harry emerged from the kitchen she was sitting back with her task completed. Handing him the product of her labours she stated as evenly as possible, "I think that's everything – I've put down his usual conference venues etc, it occurred to me that he might be meeting her locally."

"Has it also occurred to you that more than one girl may be involved?"

What other potential depravities Harry was going to attribute to Robin? Within the last few minutes he'd accused him of starring in porn and being a serial shagger. Of the latter charge she supposed it took one to know one. At least he'd have to draw the line at wife swapping. The last time Jane had gone swinging had years ago, at a theme park with the children. Rather than answer his question directly she expostulated, "It might surprise you to know this Harry but I don't deal with depravity on a daily basis."'

"Not what I remember you saying when you crawled in from school on some occasions."

Looking down at the closely written pages he congratulated her. "Thanks Jane, this gives us a starting point."

Jane was onto that statement like a flash. "Who's us?"

Harry wasn't sure how she'd take the idea of her confidences being passed on, but if they were to stitch up Robin he needed expert help. "I think I'll be asking Malcolm to do some digging." Hastily, as he could see her opening her mouth to object, "Don't worry Jane, he's the soul of discretion." Keen to channel her thoughts before she could marshal any immediate protests he asked, "Tell me, do you and Robin use the same solicitor?" Her head indicated a puzzled affirmation. "Thought so. If you don't mind I think it might be wise to use a different one, I could ask mine but you may not like..."

Jane blenched, "What after our divorce!" If memory served, and she knew it did, the papers relating to Pearce v Pearce must have been stored in an asbestos lined filing cabinet. Knowing their contents how could Harry even suggest this! Was he after all exacting some form of revenge on her?

Divining the cause of her alarm, Harry tried to offer some reassurance. "That was his father, the worst Robert's had from you is the letter of complaint from when I sorted Graham out, remember when you and Rob..." Any further explanation was drowned in a banshee shriek from Jane.

"What! I asked that we sent a letter thanking you and offering to share the costs." Realisation began to dawn. "The bastard, that... that...And you thought that I'd...and still wanted to help me out..." For once she was speechless, she wasn't sure which shock was responsible for paralysing her vocal cords, the revelation of Robin's duplicity, or the realisation that while believing that she'd complained about his helping their son, topping off everything else she'd ever said, Harry had still been prepared to give her houseroom. She was inclined to change her mind about the prospect of murdering Robin.

Harry supposed he had misjudged her slightly, he really should have know that Jane would not have objected to his efforts in preventing Graham from being gifted with a criminal record, not when earlier rows had revolved around her assertion that he didn't understand his son. Harry had never agreed with that statement; he thought he understood Graham too well. Graham didn't just resemble Harry, he had also inherited several of his character traits. Harry had long since realised that without the discipline acquired via his military career he might have ended up as directionless as Graham. Perhaps he shouldn't feel too guilty though for accepting the Robin instigated letter at face value, Jane hadn't exactly helped him towards a balanced judgement, firstly by making it difficult for him to see the children and later by positively encouraging them to regard Robin as their father. Nor was it any thanks to her cooperation, lack of, that Catherine hadn't ended up dead in Iraq. The forcible rescue contrived by Tom Quinn, at a considerable risk to his own skin, had produced no thanks beyond that of several years of hostility. Easy then to misjudge her just as badly as she'd so often misjudged him. Anyway the soul baring could wait, it was late and the shock filled day had left both of them exhausted, emotionally and physically.

Suiting the words to the feeling he suggested, "We'll have the discussion about how Robin has managed to misrepresent both of us on another occasion. For now. Bed."

Attempting to rise from the depths of the sofa Jane stumbled as her ankle protested at her careless movement, sending her crashing back into the cushions. Standing up Harry reached out and taking both her hands pulled her upright. He'd rather over estimated Jane's weight as she popped up like a cork crashing into his chest. For a very brief moment Harry's arms went around her, steadying her body as he said in her ear, "Careful or we'll both end up on the floor."

"Well it wouldn't be for the first time, would it?" As she said it Jane began to wonder at the effect of the wine she'd consumed. Her slightly risqué return to the past seemed to have produced an unexpected reaction from Harry as he said gravely, "That does remind me Jane."

Harry rarely looked discomforted, but he did now as he went on, "I hope you get a good night's sleep but it is just possible that at some stage you'll get nightmares. If you have a really bad one do you want me to wake you up?"

Jane was surprised he felt the need to ask until he explained "Just think for a moment, you find me leaning over your bed in the dead of night when we're alone in the house and with my past history you could be pardoned for thinking..."

"What that you are attempting to rape me! I thought we'd already had this conversation. I'm not saying that I mightn't be alarmed when I'm half asleep, but Harry it's precisely because I do know your past history that I'd never accuse you of that." Swallowing as she thought yet again about the sides of his life that she'd always tried to ignore, "I daresay you've committed every violent crime in the statute book at some stage but not that one. Besides you've always managed to get plenty of sex without resorting to violence, as well as getting turned on from persuading not forcing." Before he could look too offended she wound up with, "And I should know, I fell for it as well."

Grateful to have received her assent, however couched, Harry gave a slightly ironical smile. "Thanks Jane, you do say the nicest things. So in a strictly platonic sense I think it's time I got you into bed." With that he proffered his arm, knowing that she still needed help to ascend the stairs.

"You're welcome kind Sir. I'd curtsey but with this ankle I'd collapse." With that she grasped his arm and they headed for the stairs and sleep.

It was around four o'clock when Jane awoke from her deep sleep. Exhaustion had meant that she'd flaked out nearly as soon as she'd hit the mattress. Unfortunately her various aches and pains had conspired to rouse her early. Resolved not toss and turn, which wasn't going to be productive of sleep and was painful with cracked ribs, she lay flat on her back considering the eventful day just past. Forty eight hours ago if anyone had told her that she and Harry would in effect be living together in the same house she'd have laughed in their face. Although she'd gradually realised, after lengthy badgering from their daughter, that Harry was not quite the monster she'd built him up into, she'd remained virtually trapped into the cycle of loathing until yesterday evening. Since then her perceptions had been whirling around in ever dizzying circles as she tried, withut conspicous success, to unravel the strange tapestry that was Harry. He'd changed from being the cardboard hate figure of twenty five years into what...she really didn't know. All she did know was that whereas yesterday her curiosity about his current lifestyle had been precisely that, it was now rapidly being displaced by a very real concern, springing from the number of occasions on which he'd seemed to dissolve into a preoccupation that owed nothing to anything or anyone she could discern in his immediate surroundings. As an ex-member of the Valium club she thought she recognised in these mental absences the possible symptoms of an evolving depression, especially when taken in conjunction with the accompanying mood swings. She'd seen him suffering from this before, of course she had, but what you bounced back from at thirty when the world still seemed to be before you was very different to your emotions in late middle age when Old Father Time, if not exactly squatting on your doorstep, was definitely waving his scythe as he hustled you down the cul de sac marked Gravesend. There again she could be wrong in her diagnosis. Depressive symptoms included recklessness, exemplified by a desire to indulge in dangerous actions. So was he depressed or merely fulfilling part of his job description? The alternative suggestion that sufferers were prone to substance abuse wasn't much help either. For as long as she'd known him Harry had consumed truly awesome volumes of alcohol. She'd sometimes wondered how he'd managed to ever graduate, let alone obtain a good degree, given that he spent most of his time at University in the bar, turning up more often than not to tutorials with his essay in one hand and a hangover cure in the other.

What then had gone so seriously wrong for him? Yet again the balance of secrecy had tipped in his favour putting her at a disadvantage. He knew most of the details relating to her situation with Robin and shortly, she had little doubt, would filling in the gaps of Robin's yet to be revealed perfidy. Whereas what did she know of his recent life: virtually nothing. She suspected an affair gone awry, but the man she'd known would have shrugged, got drunk and moved on. She'd heard several grapevine rumours about his bachelor exploits, purveyed by mutual acquaintances who'd occasionally had contact with him, and while she'd acquit him of holding the crude view that 'all cats were gray in the dark', he'd always had some sense of discrimination, she couldn't fail to admit that for him 'more pebbles on the beach' was reasonably apposite. Now he seemed as washed up as piece of flotsam. From where she lay she couldn't decide if the spectral woman had had the common sense to realise that getting involved with a spook was the shortcut to disaster, or alternatively, had been bonkers enough to pass up the chance of a relationship with a charming, attentive man who, not withstanding his reputation as a womaniser, was able to make any female feel special and desirable. And where was this woman lurking? Not on the Grid: Jane was sure of that. She'd wondered about the Intel Analyst who'd mysteriously transferred into Whitehall? But the Home Office was hardly the Gulag. Had she perhaps made it clear she didn't want anything to do with him? But that thought circled back to his pebbles on the beach tendency. Was Harry hankering after the unobtainable? Jane remembered the way he'd pursued herself, but she had been around in plain sight, and Harry was not a man to accept a rebuff easily. Now, in off guard moments he seemed so sad, - no not sad - inappropriate given the connotations that phrase had acquired in recent years. Tragic then –but why? She could always ask him outright, but he'd probably take refuge in the Official Secrets Act and did she really want to strip him of the defences that prevented him from breaking down? He'd said that he wanted to help her as a friend, the same applied to her. He appeared so lost in those moments of drift she really wanted to put her arms around him, hug him and tell him that everything would be okay. But she couldn't, because she was hamstrung by ignorance. Life may never be alright for him again.

So occupied had Jane been in considering the ever decreasing circles of Harry that she'd failed to register the low moaning sound that now gradually impinged on her consciousness. Her first thought was that it was wind rustling the tree branches in the back garden, but the night was still and it only took her a few seconds to realise that the noise was coming from somewhere within the house. Intruders? Not with that sound, a yelp if they hit something, a creak on the stairs, a stealthy footfall perhaps, but not this distressed weeping that spoke of torment. Then memory kicked in. Did Harry know that he still suffered from nightmares? Pulling herself upright she reached for the walking stick and swung her legs out of the bed. Wincing slightly she made her way slowly towards his bedroom, hoping desperately that she wouldn't have to wake him. Knowing that she was relying on his strength to find their daughter and disentangle her from her marriage he'd not want her to see him keening and helpless. Stupid man: stupid pride. Being Head of Section D didn't mean that he'd been stripped of all sense of feeling, like everyone else he was still composed of flesh, blood and human limitations.

Peering into the room shrouded in darkness created by heavy curtains, spook curtains designed for secrecy, she could just make out the broad outline of the bed. 'Typical Harry, large bed – was he really its only occupant these days?' Subduing her thoughts she looked again, he was definitely stirring unrestfully, although not flailing around as he had done in the past. In the aftermath of Bill's death she'd received more than one bruise from a sleep slung arm. A contrite Harry had suggested that he transferred himself into the spare room, an option that she had steadfastly refused on the basis that she'd taken him for better or worse, little knowing then how much of the worst was in store. In the present day she paused in the doorway for several seconds. She hated seeing him so vulnerable, but after all his help and practical sympathy over the past few hours she was simply didn't feel it was right to leave him alone, haunted by horrors that he could suppress by day, but not by night.

Hesitant as she was a further moan and toss made her creep towards the bed, noting, to her relief that he wasn't lying in the dead centre but fortuitously had moved towards the side she was approaching. A further simple problem now presented itself. What was he wearing? In the olden days he'd often slept naked, justified by the excuse that he had to get dressed quickly when hauled out of bed by an emergency. Knowing him intimately Jane had pretended to believe this, well aware of the type of action he really wanted to be stripped for. Not that she'd ever complained about that, but if he'd retained his old habits this could be a little embarrassing. Ignoring her feelings of discomfort she moved nearer, finally noticing that while he'd thrown off the duvet cover at least his nether regions were still concealed by a sheet. Just as she reached the edge of the mattress another sudden heave meant that his back was turned towards her. Good. Trying and failing to avert her gaze she thankfully saw, now that her eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom, that he was wearing something with a waistband. Moving her position she stretched out her hand and placed it gently on his back, no alarmed reaction resulted as she began to rub in soothing circles, a practice she remembered of old. Gradually extending her range from shoulder blades to lower back he slowly seemed to settle. Immediate crisis over she began to realise that the disconnected vague sounds Harry was muttering were occasionally interspersed with the odd word. Guilty as she felt at trespassing into his very private territory Jane made no effort to avoid deciphering his mumurings, in fact her ears were positively straining as she continued to lightly massage his back. What she could make out had no discernible meaning, a few odd sounds jumbled and indistinct, seemingly unrelated and those she could interpret made no sense...

"Berlin...bate no Lucas... ru... ena...slasher...cove...rush...Alban...bloo"

Before she could try to work out the meaning of these disconnected syllables she was nearly knocked off her feet with shock when he suddenly turned and screamed ..."God no go...just go...no, no." The last at an alarmed pitch she'd never previously heard from him. For a moment she thought he'd woken up, but as he writhed once more, she realised that he was still asleep. To her relief it seemed that he'd finally finished reliving whatever was torturing him. Leaving him prone and unmoving she quietly limped her way back towards the door. She was about to pass through it when she heard a final coherent, agonised sentence, "Ilya we have no choice." Looking back she saw no further movement as the sound of gentle snores reached her ears. Whatever was disturbing his sleep had apparently ended for the night.

Silently closing the door behind her she knew that she would never mention this incident to Harry or anyone. As she clambered back into her bed while she knew she was no closer to solving the mystery that haunted him one matter was now crystal clear. Whatever was ailing Harry was an event on a par with the disaster of Bill's death. She'd accused him of possessing a guilt complex. For the first time ever it occurred to her that it was probably that experience that had triggered it. That grim memory of his perceived failure to save his friend setting his feet upon the path of self blame for everything that went wrong in the lives of those he felt responsible for. Whatever had now occurred some thirty five years later to affect him so badly was more than just a love affair gone wrong, it was something that had shaken him to the depths of his soul. During the day he could indulge in denial and ignore his grief, but at night the unexorcised demons enjoyed free play across his unconscious mind.

Was there any way in which she could help the man he now was escape from the unexplained nightmare he was living with? She was still pondering this conundrum as she drifted into sleep.

Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment. I now know what Harry is going to do about Robin and as you may have guessed Malcolm returns in my next.