I was mourning Spooks looking through my 'best TV in the world' folder, and I happened across this fanfiction – I wrote it sometime last year, and never got round to finishing or posting.

I always liked Wes, and never thought there was enough of the effect his parents' career had on him; the scene where Harry goes to the rugby match breaks my heart. Most episodes of Spooks do though, so don't get me started...

Wes Carter raised his head at the knock on his dormitory door, and momentarily considered answering. He returned quickly to his study book; surely, whoever it was, they wanted one of the other boys, and they were all out somewhere or other. If he kept his head down, the caller would go away. They always did.

The wood was rapped on again, though, louder this time, and more persistent. Sighing, Wes lifted the file from his knees and slid from the bed, crossing the room in a couple of steps, and dragging the door open.

"Good evening, Wes," his kindly housemistress, Mrs Scott, stood before him, a somewhat anxious expression set on her face.

"They're not here, miss." he informed her neutrally, his hand still lingering on the handle as if indicating he wanted to close it.

"Actually, Wes, it's you I'm here to see. You have a visitor."

Wes visibly shrank back from the doorway. A visitor? Who exactly would want to see him? He couldn't remember the last time he'd been summoned to the family room. Probably because he didn't have any family. "I think you've got the wrong person, miss. No one ever visits me."

A shadow of doubt crossed her face, but was quickly replaced with pity, "Well, he seemed pretty certain. Why don't you come along and find out?"

He gave a deep inward sigh, but nodded reluctantly, and followed her from the room and along the corridor. As they reached the door, Mrs Scott turned and gave him an encouraging smile, then ushered him inside and disappeared.

Wes froze for a beat, gazing around the room at the colourful sketches plastered to the walls, and the abandoned teddy-bears littered across the floor. His eyes finally locked onto the only other person's, growing wide, "Uncle Harry?"

"Wes," he replied softly. He found himself thrown off balance as the boy ran towards him and wrapped his arms around his waist, clinging on for dear life. Harry sank down onto the chair behind him slowly, holding Wes in his arms, and feeling tears well up behind his eyelids.

Wes Carter wasn't a child any more; he was now nearly fourteen years of age, tall and strong, if a little scrawny. He'd grown up so much since their last meeting. From what Harry could gather, he was now intelligent, gracious, insightful... A wonderful young man. But not a happy one.

"Sorry," Wes eventually found his voice, flushing as he pulled away from Harry's grip. His eyes were damp, too, Harry noted, and his lip trembled slightly, but his tone was composed, "I just..."

"Yes. Me too."

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, signalling to the chair beside him and taking Wes's hand as he sank down. Harry didn't really 'do' children, as a rule. He had Catherine and Graham, of course, but...well, he'd always felt he failed them. With Wes, it was different. There'd always been a bond; how couldn't there have been? "I should've come earlier."

"I guess it was hard for you too."

"Yes." Oh, he was so much like his father sometimes. "Do you remember your father, Wes?"

Wes nodded slowly, as if uncertain, "Some things - like flashes of memories. Playing Frisbee in the park, or reading in bed. And when he told me mum was dead. I was fishing by the lake with my grandparents. I don't really remember her; mum."

"Do you have a picture?"

Wes fumbled around in the pocket of his trousers and dragged out a crumbled scrap of paper, printed with a faded image of his parents. His fingers stroked his mother's face as he stared down into the depths of the scene.

Harry smiled sorrowfully. Clearly the boy had never moved on from the traumatic experiences in his childhood. He slid a paper file from his jacket and produced a handful of pictures.

Wes took them hastily, engrossed as he shuffled through the pages. His eyes searched their faces hungrily, desperately searching. He hadn't seen his parents for so many years now. He hated to admit it even to himself, but he could barely recollect their voices now, or their smells. He closed his eyes now, and his mum's sweet perfume floated back into his nostrils, filling him with hope. "I...I...can I keep this one?"

Harry leant across, peering at the image Wes indicated. Fiona sat on the left, and Adam on the right, their fingers interlocked in a clear indication of love. An infantile Wes was nestled between them, his hair tussled and his eyes sleepy, but a content smile stretched across his lips. They appeared a perfect family. A normal family. Wasn't that all any of them had ever wanted?

"You can keep them all, Wes."

"Thank you. Thank you so much," Wes clutched the photos to his chest now, eyeing Harry with a new compassion.

Harry didn't reply. This poor, poor child. Born into a family of spies; born into fear, mystery, deception... Shaken by his mother's death, witnessing his relatives' demise before being hurried off to a boarding school on the other side of the country. Discovering his father was dead, and being left to cope all alone. How had he ever stood a chance?

"Am I weird? Still missing them now?"

"No. No, of course not," he reassured softly, "I miss them as well, every day. People like your parents can't be forgotten."

"You knew my dad well, didn't you? And my mum too?" Wes, laying his new photos delicately down on the table in front of them, now turned to the adult inquisitively, determined to make the most of this time, "From work?"

"Yes. I was their boss." Harry confirmed, inwardly noting yet another trait shared between father and son – inner strength and will, "They were both wonderful people, Wes; parents to be proud of. And they were so proud of you, too."

"Mrs Scott always says that. That if my parents were watching me now, they'd be proud. Do you believe in all that, though? I want to - I really do. I pray to them every night. But...but is it real?"

"I don't know," he took his time to reply, careful not to hurt Wes, "No one knows. It's up to you to make your own mind up. But I'll tell you one thing. Faith helps you to stay strong throughout the hard times, to remain hopeful for the good moments. Life's so much easier when you believe."

They sat in companiable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Harry wondered how much he could learn from this child. Wes imagined his father holding his hand, his mother whispering in his ear.

"Wes, I've got so much to share. I'm married now, to a wonderful woman who knew your parents too, and equally has many, many stories to tell. You deserve to know the truth – your parents would want that much."

Wes's eyes brightened as Harry spoke, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. He knew his parents hadn't abandoned him – not really. It hadn't been their fault. But that hadn't consoled him at all when he'd woken in the night screaming, or sat alone at the breakfast table whilst his peers gleefully opened parcels from home. Was Harry offering him exactly what he'd been praying for all these years – a real insight into his parents' lives? The real truth?

"I know...I know it's too little, too late. I know you've suffered intolerably. But...but maybe it would ease the pain slightly, to hear about your parents, and the reality of their lives." Harry squeezed the boy's hand supportively, understanding he needed time to mull the concept over now, "Look, I'll leave you alone now; your teacher tells me you've got lots of studying to be getting on with. Ruth and I are staying in a hotel in the area; we decided to have a break. If you want to talk, you know where I am."

Harry pressed a scrap of paper into the boy's hand, gave him a meaningful glance and strolled away, leaving Wes alone with a pile of photographs and a phone number to contemplate what the hell was going on.

XxXxX

Thanks for reading – please review ;') xx