A Winter's Tale Chapter 1, a mi-5/spooks fanfic

Title: A Winter's Tale
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: T
Genre: Angst
Characters: Harry Pearce
Warnings: None

Summary: How does Harry feel on the first Christmas since Ruth has been forced into exile. Songfic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Spooks or any of the characters you may recognise. They all belong to Kudos/BBC. Neither do I own A Winter's Tale - that belongs to David Essex, Tim Rice and Mike Batt.

A/N: I have been in love with this song since I was about 8 or 9 and I got a free cassette of it in one of my selection boxes that Christmas. I was listening to it the other day and it struck me that the story it told would be similar to Harry's after Ruth had left in Series 5. I sat down at my laptop that night and this is what came of it. It's not a particularly happy fic but I hope that it's honest and in some ways hopeful.

The nights are colder now - maybe I should close the door.
And anyway, the snow has covered all your footsteps
And I can follow you no more

Harry sighed and looked out over the garden. It was covered with snow, an unbroken carpet of white, marred only at the very edge where the cats had left their tracks. Everything was very still. The world seemed to be holding its breath - even a robin perched, poised and motionless, on one snow-covered branch of the small tree at the end of the garden. It looked desperately lonely without its leaves and snow laid thickly along its branches.

"It's not the only one that's lonely," thought Harry forlornly.

Harry did not quite seem to belong in this world as he stood very still, his eyes unseeing, the black of his suit a sharp contrast to the crisp whiteness of his surroundings. He gave off an air of vague melancholy; sorrow which had worn out the screaming and violent fits of temper and now just remained; ceaselessly wearing away at him, a tide washing endlessly at a weathered rock on the coast.

His daughter, Catherine, stood inside, watching him with indefinite sadness. It had been almost six months, and although Harry had outwardly forgotten everything that had happened, there were times when she wondered if he had recovered from losing Ruth at all. If there was ever a day that went by when he did not picture her face, dream up her voice in his head or imagine her with him again.

Quietly, Catherine moved outside to stand with her father on the terrace of his town house in central London. Reaching out slowly, she laid her hand on his shoulder. "Dad?"

Harry started at the touch, nodding briefly when he saw her.

"It's cold," she whispered, the vapours of her breath a stark contrast to the darkness of the hour. "Don't you think it's time to come inside?"

Harry shook his head. "It's not that cold."

Catherine turned and closed the door, keeping the heat in the house, but remained with her father. There was no wind; the entire garden was very still. She stood beside Harry for a moment, surveying the snow-covered garden.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked.

"They're not worth it," was his reply, as he brushed a layer of snow off the top of the bin and allowed the residue to melt on his bare hands.

The fire still burns at night
My memories are warm and clear
But everybody knows it's hard to be alone at this time of year.

Catherine watched as the snow slowly melted on Harry's hands and sighed inwardly. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay tonight?" She knew her father was used to being alone on Christmas, but this year, the first after Ruth's departure, she worried Harry might feel the loneliness even more keenly.

There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "In case of what? Monsters?" He brushed the snow from his hands with a careless, curiously elegant gesture.

Catherine wondered briefly at the sudden glimmer of recognition, the momentary acknowledgement of those nights when she was a child, where she would beg him to sit with her while she fell asleep; scared of monsters that might have been hiding under her bed. She'd grown up though and their relationship had been tested but since meeting again while she was working within the November Committee relationship had shifted slowly from undisguised hostility, through guarded, long-suppressed flickerings of liking, to the ease that was now between them. How it should be between a father and his daughter.

Catherine watched Harry sink back into his reverie, his hands now lying restlessly over the wall that bordered the garden, seeming unconscious of the snow beneath his fingers.

"Come on," she said at last. "We'll both catch pneumonia if we continue to stand out here all night. Let's go in and have a cup of tea."

Harry looked up, a veil falling from his eyes as he slowly returned to the present, and Catherine realised that he had registered neither the cold nor the snow. "Forgive me," he said with a quite disarming sincerity. "I must confess to not paying attention."

Catherine smiled in spite of herself. Infuriating, sarcastic, and downright impolite as her father could be, he still possessed a uniquely sincere charm that prevented her from ever remaining seriously displeased with him for very long.

"I said let's go inside," she repeated. "It's freezing out here."

She was slightly surprised with the ease at which Harry capitulated.

Once inside, Catherine bent to turn up the fire coaxing it to a bright blaze. Harry had drifted to the window, and was staring out into the snow-blanketed garden, his eyes once again distant. She had to call his name three times before she managed to break into her father's melancholic reverie.

"Sorry," he said at last coming over to sit in his armchair and cradle the cup of tea Catherine handed to him. "I'm probably not very good company for you this evening.

"Well, you do seem a tad preoccupied," Catherine acknowledged with a faint smile. She came to sit in the chair next to her father, her expression showing concern. "Is there something wrong?"

Harry's voice was soft. "No," he replied, staring down into his tea tilting the cup absently from one side to the other to make the contents dance.

It was only a winter's tale
Just another winter's tale.
And why should the world take notice
Of one more love that's failed?
It was a love that could never be
Though it meant a lot to you and me
On a worldwide scale we're just another winter's tale.

They did not speak of Ruth now; although Catherine knew she was ever on his mind, Harry had bricked off the special, deeply cherished part of his heart where he had enshrined his memories of her, and had restricted her to that tightly walled cell.

There was only one time, of which Catherine was away, when Harry had spoken about Ruth since she had been forced to leave. She had sent him a postcard. Whatever it had contained it was not for any eyes but his own, and he guarded the secret of what she had said to him at the very last in his heart, which made Catherine sad to watch.

Whatever she had written, it had tipped the stable, balanced equilibrium that he had worked so tenuously to maintain. Catherine had come to visit him to find him slumped on the sofa, surrounded by Chinese takeaway cartons and an empty bottle of whiskey, which by the smell in the air, had been full when Harry had taken solace in it.

When she had roused him and his hangover had been cured he told her the tale of him and Ruth. How he had loved her from afar for almost 2 years before finally plucking up the courage to ask her to dinner. How he'd enjoyed their date so much that he'd whistled all the way home. And how his happiness had been ripped away when, first Ruth had run from him, scared of what others might say about their relationship, and then more permanently by her forced exile.

"I loved her," he'd said in a voice that was so small that Catherine had to strain to hear him. "I still love her."

"I don't know what to say to give you any comfort except that at least she's safe."

"We don't know that for sure."

"I'm sure you'd know if something had happened to her. You told me once you only have the best agents on your team… they'd find out."

They'd talked a little more about Ruth and Catherine had found herself wishing she'd met the woman who had made such an impact on her father.

While I stand alone
A bell is ringing far away.
I wonder if you hear, I wonder if you're listening
I wonder where you are today.
Good luck, I wish you well,
For all that wishes may be worth
I hope that love and strength are with you for the length of your time on earth.

Sometime later, when they'd finished their tea, Harry ushered Catherine to the door; her arms full of presents for her and her brother.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" she asked again, her eyes searching his face.

Harry smiled inwardly; his daughter's continually overprotective concern never failed to amuse him. And yet, she was right of course, as she always was. Harry did not want to be alone this Christmas but, and it sounded awful to say of his own flesh and blood, it was not her who could salve his pain. He shook his head. "Thank you, sweetheart, but no. You go to your mum's; and say hello to everyone for me.

Catherine gave her father a hug and then, promising to ring him the next morning, slowly made her way down the path to her car.

"Drive safely!" Harry called.

Catherine nodded.

Once she had driven off, Harry closed the door of the house, and wandered back through the kitchen and out into the garden. The robin had flown away, and footprints, both his own and Catherine's, marred the surface of the snow. But the garden was still very peaceful; very still.

He returned to the wall and leaned on it, heedless of the snow soaking through the sleeves of his jacket, and gazed out across the whiteness of the park that backed on to his house. Down the road, the church bell began to toll. Harry glanced up, listening. Perhaps she could hear it, wherever she was. Surely, wherever she was, she would be somewhere near a church. The thought of that shared experience made him smile, although he was not aware of the outward expression.

He liked to think of her being happy. He still missed her, of course; the feeling of overwhelming despair at her absence washed over him regularly, and he would have sold his soul for another hour with her; but somehow it was comforting to think of her abroad somewhere making use of her brilliant language skills. Right now, Harry could recall her face, her smile, her mannerisms in exact detail. But he knew that over time, his memories of her would fade, become fuzzy and gradually disappear. He doubted her would ever forget her completely; she was too burnt into him for that to happen, thankfully. But he knew there would come a time when he wouldn't be able to remember the sound of her laugh, the exact curve of her smile, the feel of her lips against his. He was dreading that day.

The only small comfort was that she had made it out of the service; alive. She was able to enjoy life without the responsibility of protecting the country above all else, even her own life. She wouldn't face the same fate as Danny, Fiona or Colin. He wished that she was safe and didn't suppose it made any real difference, but it made him feel better to think of her as continuing under his protection, even if in such a small way.

It was beginning to get dark. Harry glanced up at the twilight sky where tiny pinpricks of stars were shining through the curtain of darkness. Distantly, he could hear his dog Scarlet barking from inside the house and as he stood up straight, he realised that his suit was wet through with melted snow.

As he stood, it began to snow again; tiny flakes, light as air, drifting slowly down from the heavens, each one a feather-soft kiss on his face. He smiled.

As Scarlet's barking grew louder and more determined, Harry brushed the snow from his jacket and crossed the garden to go back inside. As he reached the door, he paused, and looked up into the star-spotted sky and softly drifting snowflakes and whispered, "Merry Christmas my love… wherever you are."

A/N: Thanks for reading - I hope it wasn't too depressing. Please do leave a review and let me know what you thought. I'm toying with the idea of another chapter or a sequel but I have no idea if that will come off, so for now this story is complete, but if you sign up for either author or story alerts, you never know what may happen.