Title: The Ghost of a Future
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: T
Genre: Angst/Romance
Warnings: None

Summary: Fic based on the extended scene that was originally storyboarded for Harry's visit to Ruth's house in 10x06.

Disclaimer: I don't own Spooks or any of the characters you may recognise. They all belong to Kudos/BBC.

A/N: Here I am with another short offering, despite my increasing workload. I'm thinking this will be about 3 chapters in length. As I said in the summary, this is based on the extended stuff that is talked about on the audio commentary to 10x06. Extra stuff was storyboarded for the scene in 10x06 where Harry visits the house that Ruth wanted to buy. I will post a link in my profile for anyone who wants to read what was said.

Chapter 1

He approaches the green door with the peeling paint; he can see now why she said she hadn't wanted to change it. It was so….Ruth. Taking out his newly acquired key, he unlocks the door and steps inside . He stands in the hallway, an internal battle raging within him. He didn't really know if buying this place was a good idea, but he needed something to cling to, something of hers. The flat she had lived in since her return from Cyprus wasn't good enough; it didn't represent her, but this cottage did. It had been her dream; so to him it is as if she seeps through every brick, every drop of paint.

He closes his eyes, letting the emotions wash over him. Every moment they have ever shared flashes through his mind; every smile, every touch, every stinging comment, every kiss and it breaks his heart that it has come to this. The wind sweeps in through the open front door and he's sure he hears her voice carried on it. "Harry," she calls; lovingly, devotedly. But he knows it isn't her; it can't be.

He walks through the first door on his left, into the living room. The room is bland; magnolia walls, no furniture and empty floor to ceiling bookcases in the alcoves either side of the wood burning fire. His eyes slip shut as he imagines sitting in front of a roaring fire, with her in his arms.

"Harry." Her voice again, a whisper in the air. It forces him to open his eyes and he sees her there, in front of him. The image, a ghost of a future they could have had, is a little blurry around the edges, like a watercolour. She is standing on step ladder, hanging a picture. "Is it straight?" she asks, not turning around. "Harry? I said, is it straight?" The image before him fades, before he has the chance to tell her that no, it isn't. And as an intelligence analyst, she ought to know that.

He moves through to the sparsely furnished kitchen, and as he does so the room comes to life, just as the living room had done moments ago. There is music playing and the table is set for a candlelight dinner for two. Harry can smell the delicious aroma of a chilli con carne and he can see her again, standing at the stove. She is swaying slightly to the music; it's a classical piece he vaguely recognises but can't quite place. It doesn't matter though, it fits perfectly. "Harry!" she calls, again not looking at him. "Dinner's nearly ready. Can you open some wine?" But, for the second time, she is gone before he can utter a response.

He retreats back out into the hallway and stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking into a mirror that adorns the pale blue wall, wondering if he's going mad. He is rational, he knows it isn't real. Not for the first time, he ponders if it was a mistake to purchase the house. Can he cope with being haunted by her image every day, or will it drive him slowly insane?

He ascends the stairs and stops in the doorway of the master bedroom. He leans on the doorframe as she appears before him. This time the image is of her sitting up in bed, reading. The book is the same one she was reading on the bus all those years ago; 'Persuasion.' She looks up at him, really looks at him, but she doesn't say anything. She just smiles and pats the empty space on the bed next to her. He complies with her request, moving toward her and takes his place alongside her. A whiff of her unmistakable scent and she is gone; he is alone once more.

He almost can't bear entering the next room; the one she had designated as his office. He'd wanted to ask her what on earth she thought he'd need an office for when he was leaving the service, but it hadn't been the time. He turns the handle on the door and pushes it open. He doesn't see an office. The walls are a pale yellow, with white furniture and a gentle tune fills the air. In the middle of the room Ruth stands, bent slightly over a crib, cooing softly to its occupant. "Ssh, It's okay. Daddy will be back soon." Harry enters the room, trying to get a better look at the scene before him, but as he arrives at the side of the cot, the image again disappears.

It's more than he can take and he rushes from the room, down the stairs and out into the garden, slamming the front door so hard that a few flecks of paint are dislodged and float to the floor. He walks up the path, his eyes focused on the gate; not allowing any other images of what might have been to invade his mind. He's almost back at his car when his mobile rings. Taking it out of his jacket pocket, he blanches at the name showing on the screen. He really doesn't want to take the call but forces himself to answer, knowing he can't possibly ignore it.

"Harry Pearce." He listens intently to the voice on the other end before replying stoically, "I'm on my way."

A/N: There is more if you want it. Review and let me know.