Disclaimer: Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

Author's Note: Sequel to Chance.
The name comes care of Nightwish, fantastic band that they are. This idea came to me as a dream, and so I really had to turn it into a Fic. I just hope i've done it justice.
Thank You for Reading, Enjoy and Please Review! And Look out for the following chapters.
Merry Christmas! (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)

White Night Fantasy – Chapter One

The day had dragged on, squeezing out each and every last drop of daylight. Come home time, everyone was glad to be leaving behind how manic the grid had become for a swift half at the George. All accept one.

Ruth would have been more than happy to work into the early morning. There were countless reports to be completed and filed, housekeeping to be checked and surveillance tapes to be viewed. Since Adam had been placed on sick leave, the work load had tripled. She hadn't complained as Malcolm pilled yet another stack of folders on her desk, not once. But even that hadn't been enough to convince Harry to let her stay late. She would had tried tears if it would have made a difference. Not that it would have. He had been quite firm in telling her to go home, to put her feet up and try to enjoy what was left of her night.

So she had caught the last bus home, which for once was on time. Even the buses where against her. She had avoided her bedroom for the better part of an hour; she didn't want to look at the outfit that she had picked out. As if seeing the dress would admit that she was actually planning on going through with tonight. Would picking up the phone and pretending to be ill be cowardly? Or saying that she was buried under a ton of paperwork? None of her excuses sounded creditable.

Biting the bullet she did her hair and make-up. She used far too much eyeliner, making the blue of her eyes darker, almost a sapphire blue. Her red lip stick matched the dress. She'd been lucky to find the shade at all. Lost amongst the pale pinks and gold's. A rose amongst the thorns as her elegant poetry books would describe it. The black knee high boots set off the outfit along with the black silk scarf.

She sat in the back of the taxi, wringing her hands. No matter how many times she told herself that tonight was going to be fine, the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't agree. As she picked an imaginary piece of lint from her clothing, her mind swirled with different conversational pieces. If she planned on getting through tonight with no hiccups, then she needed to sick to them. But as she forgot the punch line to yet another joke, she wished that she was sat at her station on the grid. She felt safe there, surrounded by the familiar faces of the admin staff, watching a certain someone working away into the early hours. Sat in the taxi, she had never felt so terrified.

The taxi pulled up outside the expensive South London house. A thick blanket of snow covered the street. Somehow Ruth had climbed out and paid the driver without even realising it. Lost between wondering what could happen and wondering if she should turn around and go home. She took a step forward, finding it easier than she had originally thought. It was like walking across a bridge, just don't look down. She prayed that she wouldn't slip on the icy path. The house was the same as every other in the street, except the Christmas lights. They left something to be desired. Pink and White didn't suit the owner.

She pressed the door bell, expecting to hear a high pitched ring, but all was silent. Frowning, Ruth wondered if it was actually working and raised her hand to knock. The door opened, followed by a cloud of Christmas songs that hadn't seen the light of day in decades. Mark as ever looked cheerful, if not a little tense. The tightness around his mouth loosened when he saw her.

"Hello gorgeous!" he beamed, his voice taking on that excited lit that all voices get towards Christmas. His smile as bright as the fairy lights, though, gladly not the same colour.

"Hello you." Ruth's work smile snapped into place, a little plastic but it was a smile all the same. "Merry Christmas," she said, walking into his open arms.

"Is it Christmas already?" he asked, mockingly. "You wouldn't know it around here." His eyes were a little wide as he gestured to the Christmas lights.

The hallway was as badly decorated as the outside. Golds, reds, greens and pinks covered every surface. Mark was a refined man, he had a certain class. This…mixture of festive colours, were not to his taste.

"Grace been…embellishing a bit, has she?"

Mark shuddered visibly. "God I wish I had taken up Oliver's offer to go to Austria skiing for Christmas, I really do."

She smiled genuinely for the first time in days. "Here," she said, pulling a bottle of rather inexpensive wine out of her bag and handed it to him. "You better have this then."

He looked over the bottle and grinned. "It'll do in a pinch, thanks lovely." His expression changed from light-hearted to deadly serious. "Now you do remember about tonight…."

"Yes, Grace made sure it was on the invitation." She thought back to the piece of paper that had been hand delivered to her front door. "Not everyone invited is acquainted with the service, so legends are necessary. Bottle optional." She knew her smile was somewhat smug, but she didn't actually care.

He nodded. "Just as long as you remember, a slip up could land us in a lot of hot water."
Ruth couldn't stop rolling her eyes. "Really Mark, you're starting to sound like my boss." As soon as she said it, she winced. It was true, but she still regretted saying it. "Chris…I, I meant Chris."

After a minute of silent glaring, Mark nodded. "Good, Sharon," he said, taking her hand. "Let's get a drink."

"If your lovely wife intends to try and set me up with any single male with a pulse, then I am seriously going to need one."

He frowned, leading her into the small family room. A table had been laid out with all kinds of bottles. The smell of alcohol was as strong as the musty smell of books on a library shelf. The lady of the house had continued her decorative style throughout the house it seemed.

"She has promised me that she'll refrain from doing that tonight."

Ruth made an "hmm" noise. She seriously doubted that Grace could stop herself from match making all night. She continually pointed out that Ruth was her only single friend left, and she was determined to fix it. It wouldn't have all that bad if some of the blind dates had actually been handsome, interesting or intelligent. Not that she was asking for all three, that would be a bonus. Grace was a lovely girl, but god help her, baring Mark she really had the worse taste in men.

Armed with a glass of sweet, white wine, that put her cheap bottle to shame, she almost felt ready to meet the hostess.

Grace was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to one of her famous Christmas cakes. An insane grin spread across her face as she looked up. Her flaming red hair and eyes so green that they would make a cat envious. She was one of those women that were handsome rather than beautiful. But it took a while to work that out; with the amount of make up she wore.

She wiped the icing from her fingers and drew Ruth into a hug. "Ru…Sharon!" Though her smile never faulted, her eyes flicked towards her husband. Maybe it wouldn't be Ruth to slip up tonight after all.

"Hello Vanessa," she said, managing to wiggle of out the other woman's embrace. "How are you?"

"Fantastic!" she shrieked, excitedly. Grace's voice was normally high pitched; tonight it was as if she had inhaled a helium balloon. She pulled her apron off and tossed it to Mark. "Right you, keep an eye on those mince pies, I don't want them burning. And keep your fingers off the cake!"

They left Mark staring at the rather frilly, pink apron. Grace showed Ruth into the living room. At least twelve people sat on the white leather sofas and out in the conservatory. A hushed conversation fell over the room like a cloud. Ruth couldn't help but notice the lack of women in the two rooms. Besides herself and Grace, there were maybe three other women. She found herself glaring at the red head.

"So how are you, Sharon?" she asked, with a smile. She continued without giving her a moment to answer. "Still single?"

And there it was the most despised question in the English language.

Ruth gritted her teeth, which made her smile a little crooked. "Yes, it's still just me."
"Well then, we'll have to fix that."

The read head took her by the arm and started introductions. Every time they approached a married man, remarkably he stepped out of the room. It was like a dance that Ruth wasn't apart of, every move, every detail planned down to a tee. If Grace hadn't had a tight grip on her arm, she would have bolted. Run back to her house to sit alone in the dark with the cat.

The conversations ran from fly fishing to model boat racing. She found talking to one particular individual better than sleeping tablets. Within minutes of listening to him go on about his chronic back problems, she was yawning into her empty glass.

The wine hadn't lasted as long as she expected. But then again she was in extreme circumstances. She excused herself from the gentleman whose banter had ended up around throw pillows and under Grace's watchful eye; she went to get another drink.

For the first time in an hour, she found herself blissfully alone and had never enjoyed silence so much. She picked up the bottle of white to find it empty. Even held up to the light, she couldn't see a drop left. With a heavy sigh, she set the bottle down.

"Taking refuge amongst the bottles?" Mark was standing in the open doorway. A small smile on his face.

"Yes, if I'm planning on going back in, I think I need something a little stronger," she said, gesturing to the empty bottle.

"I'm sorry about Grace." He shrugged, peering out of the window. "But other than being set up with anything, oh let's say, with a pulse," he paused, laughing softly. "Are you ok?"

She nodded. "As long as there aren't any nasty surprises lurking around the corner, I'll be just peachy."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The tightness around his mouth had set in again.
"Mark, are you…"

He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. It took him twice before he finally found his voice. "Ruth I need to tell you something…"

A soft buzzing went through the house. Mark physically jumped at the sound of the doorbell. "I'll get that," he said, somewhat urgently. He wouldn't meet her gaze.

Ruth watched him back out of the room with a frown. She shook her head; he was being so strange tonight. She sent a questioning glance around the table, looking for the bottle of cheap plonk that she had brought. She couldn't find it and thought about calling out to Grace, but over the outdated Christmas songs, she doubted she would hear.

Out in the hallway she could hear voices in a heated discussion. One was obviously Mark, there was no mistaking that. But the other voice made her freeze. The soothing quality, the rough charm. If she didn't know any better she would have said it was…

Her hand was on the door handle before she could stop herself. She started to say something, but the words died in her throat. If she had still been holding her glass, she would have dropped it onto the wooden floor. She struggled to breathe past the lump in her throat.

Her voice came small and strangled. "Harry."

To Be Continued...