Disclaimer: Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC. If I did own anything to do with Spooks, then Ruth wouldn't have insisted that they leave it unspoken.

Author's Note: Post 5:05. I feel the need to apologize for making Harry sound slightly insane, but only slightly. It's amazing what you can find on Google these days. Here's the third and final chapter, and before anyone even says it...I plan on doing a follow up to this. Enjoy, and please don't forget to review!!

After Midnight - Chapter Three

"Let me tell you something about guilty pleasures…."

The clock stood at a quarter to three in the morning. Scarlet and the cats had retired some time ago and were probably curled up in a warm corner, dreaming about chasing mice around the kitchen, or in Scarlet's case a very large bone. With the television off, the living room was bathed in a warm, orange hue from the table lamp. And all was silent, except for the low and pleasant murmurings of his voice.

He'd been in less than 45 minutes, thanks to 6's habit of keeping ungodly hours. He was tired and irritable, and thanks to Adam's unwelcome comments, his thoughts kept returning to that single what if.

But try as he did, he couldn't stop watching the phone, waiting for it to ring. And just when he'd been tempted to give up the wait, and turn in for the night, that piercing ring broke through the stillness like razors through flesh.

"…The dictionary describes a guilty pleasure as a certain substance or activity a person enjoys, and that said substance or activity is believed to be morally wrong or improper." Harry paused. He almost smiled at how ridiculous the situation was, quoting a passage from a dictionary into a telephone. It was almost Tring worthy material, almost. "A glass of scotch, a bottle…looking at old photographs of those you've loved and lost. They're all guilty pleasures, some of which we enjoy more than most."

There, something on the line. So quiet that he almost could have imagined it. It was soft, like a laugh, and very feminine. Something about that sound made his stomach twist and turn into knots.

His mouth went dry. "Ruth?"

The silence was so thick he could practically feel it. His eyes fixed on the clock, watching the second hand slowly slip by.

"Harry..."

The sound of her voice, so gentle, cut him to the quick. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. He was glad that he hadn't been holding a glass at the time, hearing from her after so long it would have ended up in millions of pieces on the floor.

"It was you. All along, it was you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I…it was." There was a tremble in her voice he couldn't remember ever hearing before. What had happened to her to affect her in such a way? "I don't really know what to say."

He smiled to himself. "Well I've done enough talking for a lifetime, don't you think?"

"But you have such a lovely voice…I...I mean…"

He laughed, really laughed for the first time since she'd left. Looks like Adam was right, he thought to himself. "Oh bollocks!"

"What is it?" There was a hint of panic in her voice.

"Hmm? Oh no, it's not you Ruth." Had he really said that out loud? "It's bloody Adam."

"Ah, I see. What's he done now?"

Where to start? "We made a bet, or rather he did, that you were behind the phone calls."

"What did you…I mean, what did Adam bet?" He could tell that she was trying not to laugh.

"A weeks worth at the George."

"Well that….sounds like Adam," She said after a moment's pause. "I bet you wish I wasn't me now. He's going to cost you a fortune." The latter sounded hurried, trying to cover up the insecurities that her voice held.

"No, never." His voice dropped into a low, intimate whisper, the kind of whisper that wasn't meant to be used out of the bedroom. "Just hearing from you again, it's worth every penny."

He tried to imagine her. Not where she was, there were too many possibilities for that, but what she looked liked now. Maybe she'd changed her hair, the colour, the length. Maybe she'd changed her sense of style. But mostly he tried to picture he face. Phone glued to her ear, a small smile on her face, her eyes shining with the same passion that they always did.

"Harry? You still there?"

He realised he'd been quite for a long time, and gave himself a mental shake. "Yes, I'm still here. I'm not exactly going to hang up on you, am I Ruth?"

"Oh I don't know…you might."

Had she actually just said that? "Ruth, stop being so bloody insecure! You know I wouldn't." He'd meant it to sound light, playful even, but he couldn't stop the underlying layer of tension.

She sighed, a soft but heavy sound. "I don't really know what to say." She repeated.

"That's because there's nothing to say. Well there is one thing, but…we decided to leave that unsaid, remember?"

"Harry…"

"Ruth, listen to me. Forget who you are, who you were. Forget that we used to work together…"

"Forget that I'm technically dead?"

"Yes, but don't interrupt!" He smiled in spite of himself. At least she hadn't lost that annoying little habit. "Just forget everything, alright?"

"Is there a point to this?"

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Ruth, what attracted you to John Fortescue?"

"What?" He winced at the distain in her voice.

"What attracted you to him?"

"He…he had a nice voice." As soon as it rolled off her tongue, he knew she understood. "Oh."

"You know, when GCHQ told me you were brilliant, I don't think they meant all the time," He said, teasingly.

"So John Fortescue?" She asked, in an attempt to shift the conversation.

He nodded before he realised she couldn't see him. "You met him in a restaurant. Two complete strangers, yet you still knew who he was." He spoke slowly, and full of feeling. "Rather romantic, don't you think?"

"Harry, are you suggesting…"

"I'm not suggesting anything," He said, cutting her off mid sentence. "But chance meetings between two strangers do happen."

"The requiem?" Her voice held a hint of longing, like the desert's sand awaiting the rains.

"You never did have a proper funeral," He said, wistfully.

"Good, I never did like them. Far too many people," She sounded husky and beautiful as ever. "I prefer a more intimate service."

"How intimate?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" He couldn't even begin to picture the look on her face.

"Well, far be it for me to interfere with a dying wish."

The End - For now...