MI-5/Spooks 1. Kiss The Rain

**Disclaimer: Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC, and even though I want to wake up tomorrow to find Harry wrapped up in shiny paper, I doubt it'll happen **

**Author's Note: My first Christmas fic for a year, and it's not my last, even though it is Christmas tomorrow. This one is for Jancis, who gave me certain elements to work with and this is the result. Oh and thankies to N&M for the name!! Enjoy! And don't forget to review!  
Merry Christmas**

**Kiss The Rain**

The wine flowed like running water, loosening tongues and lowering inhibitions. They were glad that the budget had stretched to a ridiculously large amount of alcohol; their original plan of one bottle between two had gone down the drain within the first hour.

Wrapping paper littered the polished floor, shinning against the black tiles like multi-coloured snow. Various decorations of foil and tinsel hung from the tops of doorframes and the odd computer terminal. Christmas songs drifted through the air along with joyous chatter and laughter.

She stood against the meeting room doors, her back flush against the wood. A dress of soft red fabric fell from her shoulders, gathered at her hip by a large, black bow. Boots of leather crawled up her legs and brushed the hem of her flowing skirt. As she laughed, he noticed a faint flush across her cheeks. She held a glass of champagne in her hand; the bubbles were reflected in her eyes. Gold against blue. He couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy that those eyes weren't fixed upon him.

His hand was pressed against the door as he leant over her, his usual cheeky grin on his lips. Though his mouth moved too quickly for Harry to catch the gist of what he was saying, he knew it was probably a joke that hadn't got a decent laugh since the mid 80s. As he bent down to whisper in her ear, his eyes narrowed. He was glad that he had exchanged the paper cut for a real one. The cool and heavy glass felt like a reassuring presence in his hands.

It wasn't until a hand moved into view, not 3 inches from his nose that Harry realised that he hadn't heard a damn word of what Adam had been telling him.

"Anyone would think I'm boring you, Harry," he said, adopting a childish pout.

He made a "_hmm_" sound, his eyes never straying from the couple hovering outside the meeting room.

With a sigh of frustration sounding low in his throat, Adam turned to the floor. _Let's see what grabbed your attention_, he thought, raising his glass to his mouth. His eyes fell on the two figures standing away from the hustle of the grid, a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Ah."

Harry turned to the younger man, his eyes narrowed. He didn't like his tone. "What?" His own was hardly friendly.

"Nothing," he said too quickly, with a shake of his head.

"Spit it out."

Adam swallowed another nervous gulp of his drink. "At the risk of being sacked, I think you're an idiot." He inwardly cringed.

Something flashed through his boss's eyes, whether it was anger or good humour he couldn't tell. He hoped for the latter.

"Do you like the idea of running down to the employment office first thing in the morning?" He asked with a dangerous smile. It was the kind of smile a snake gives a rabbit, just before it swallows it whole. Fluffy tail and all.

He laughed, though it looked as fake and as plastic as the toy car he had been given for Christmas. The same car that had bumped against Harry's heels all night. The same car that was now in pieces on Malcolm's desk.

"I know she wanted some space and some time to let the gossip die down a bit, and you've given her that. More than that…"

"Adam…" There was a warning in his voice.

"On the rare occasion that you've taken your eyes off of her tonight, all she's done is look at you." He gestured to her with his pint glass. Harry couldn't be sure, but for the briefest moment, he swore their eyes locked. "She's not bloody interested in Zaf. Harry, I'm begging you. Please, don't let this opportunity pass you by."

He met the younger officer's gaze and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Oh that's just spooky."

"What?" Adam asked, worry fluttered across his expression.

"That, what you just said." He gestured with his glass. "It's the exact same thing Juliet told me."

Adam's face crumpled, with something close to disgust. "So, you're telling me that I just unknowingly quoted the wicked witch of Whitehall?" He just nodded, not bothering to hide his smile. "Oh just shoot me now."

Harry laughed, a rich, melodious sound floated on the air like music.

She excused herself from Zaf, stepping away from his embrace and his pick up lines. With a small forced smile, she walked across the grid. She gazed at him over the rim of her glass. The new suit, the new tie, the same fierce passion in his eyes. Though she would never admit it, he was the only reason she had stayed so long. She loved the feel of his eyes on her; it was almost a touchable sensation, like an ice cube rolling down her back.

As she walked towards them, Adam sent a side long glance at his boss. There was a dreamy expression on his face, his eyes fixed on hers. Adam smirked into his drink. "You off home, Ruth? It's still early."

With a small nod, she put her glass down. Her crimson lipstick shone against the crystal rim. "I think I've had enough of cheap drinkies and even cheaper jokes." She partly turned back to Zaf.

Adam almost choked on his drink. "Oh don't let him hear you say that. He'll be crushed."

She shook her head, her hair gently falling around her face. "Night Adam." She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his cheek. She pulled back just enough to see an imprint left on his skin. She raised her hand to wipe it off, when he caught her wrist. "Leave it."

She raised an eyebrow but did as she was told.

Ruth turned to look at Harry, her eyes finding his warm honey ones. "Goodnight Harry." She sounded breathy, gorgeous.

His heart skipped a beat when he felt her hand rest lightly on his arm; her fingers applying the smallest amount of pressure before moving down so that the very tips of their fingers touched. It was like electricity flowing through his veins; it always was when he was with her and the smallest thing would have him smiling.

He had to try twice before he found his voice. "Goodnight Ruth."

A smile, brighter than a hundred fairy lights, placed across her lips. No one said her name the way he did.

Adam watched in silence until the pod doors closed behind her. A small, hoarse laugh rose from his throat, with he stifled as soon as he felt the full weight on Harry's gaze turned upon him.

"You know Adam, that offer still stands."

"Tell you what Harry, you get after her and kiss her like there's no tomorrow and I'll personally wash your car for the next month." He winked and took a confident swig of his drink.

He smiled and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. Grabbing his jacket from the back of a nearby chair, Harry lowered his voice so that only the two of them would hear. "Make sure you give it two coats of wax, I want it nice and shiny."

Adam shook his head and watched him walk towards the pods. "You'll be lucky," he called after him. The rotating doors closed, cutting off the sound of his laughter.

x x x

The black curtain of night spilt open and rain descended upon London. Shop windows, umbrellas and black cabs glistened with crystalline droplets, each one shining under the orange hue of the street lights. The sound of it hitting the street was swallowed by the late night traffic.

The soles of his shoes slapped against the wet pavement, rivalling the thump of his heart in his chest. His breathing ragged, turning to blue swirls in the air. He didn't stop until he picked her out of the crowd.

She was huddled under the protective shelter of the bus stop, her snow white coat drawn tightly around her. His heart leapt as he saw her, standing in the rain, soaked yet still breathtakingly beautiful.

He called to her, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the rain. His feet refused to move.

She turned, her lips half parted to form his name and her blue, blue eyes picking him out on the busy street.

She stepped out from under the cover of the bus shelter, holding her scarf in place. She forced her way through the human traffic, smiling as she did so, until she stood not 3 feet from him. "Harry what are you doing here?" The intrigue in her voice was as clear as a taxi's head lights in the dark.

"I…" From the moment he left Thames House, sentences had formed from nothing, things he should have told her years ago. As he looked into her clear, stormy eyes, he couldn't remember any of it. "I needed to see you."

Her smile widened. "We always see each other Harry. We work together."

"No, I meant…"

She wouldn't let him finish. "I know what you meant." All traces off good humour left her face, leaving him gazing at pure and unguarded porcelain.

"Ruth…"

She met his honeyed gaze and felt as though she couldn't look away, even if she wanted to. Without even realising it, she moved closer to his voice, his warmth. Closer to him.

"Come away with me."

It was soft, so soft that she might have imagined it. But she didn't. She heard it as though he had shouted it. The breath fell out of her in a sigh. "What did you say?"

"For the weekend, or possibly longer, you know if…if you wanted to." Any and all doubt left him and he took that last step towards her, so that they were mere inches apart. He reached out a tucked a damp lock of hair back behind her ears. "Come away with me," he said again.

His voice drew her in, soothing tones that felt like silk being dragged across her skin, and she pressed her mouth to his. His lips were warm against hers and soft. He held her trembling form close, his tongue running along the fullness of her lips. She tasted sweet, like champagne.

They pulled apart, breathless, reeling from the sensation. He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her wet skin. "Is that a yes?"

She opened her eyes with a flutter of lashes and smiled. "Kiss me again and I'll tell you."

He inhaled the scent of her perfume, vanilla with a hint of spice. "My pleasure."


	2. Once Upon A Winter

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

**Author's Note: Even though Christmas is over for another year, you can never have too many Wintery Fics. This one is for Laurie, my muse. She's a constant inspiration, so this is my way of saying thank you! Oh and see how many references to a certain film, starring peaches and a riding crop, you can find. This does contain flashbacks in italics. Enjoy! Please don't forget to review and Happy New Year!**

**Once Upon A Winter**

White noise. Dense chatter filled the air like falling snow. Smiling children spoke constantly of the toys they got for Christmas; parents discussed plans for New Year. Bodies littered with rain drops squeezed between the isles, looking for a spare torn and tattered seat, almost hitting several passengers with shopping bags full to overflowing as they went. Heavy coats and multi-coloured scarves did little to keep out the cold.

They sat away from the crowd, choosing instead to take refuge at the back of the bus, where they could keep an eye on the comings and goings without looking suspicious. It was a break from their normal routine, but as the tube was packed and taxi's seemed to be few at this time of year, they made do with what they had. Though as their chosen means of transport lurched forward, they wondered why they hadn't just walked.

Because of their game, that's why they decided to wedge themselves onto an overcrowded bus.

Watching people without surveillance equipment and an obo van, they discovered, was a guilty pleasure that both of them shared. At the end of each day when they went home suffering from yet another adrenaline rush, it helped them to wind down and instead of relaying on cold, hard fact; it let them fall back on the creative genius of their imaginations. The faces in a crowd, their movements, their expressions, all of it made up a part of someone's story. It all made normality almost bearable.

Icy blue eyes surveyed the scene, looking for someone interesting. "Girl with the green hat," she said, low enough that only they would hear.

"Um…" He stumbled for something, _anything_. Creating a story about someone's live when only looking at the back of their head was tricky business. "Divorced," he finally settled for. "Husband found out that she had an affair…with a gas man, a very attractive gas man."

She made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat.

"I told you I'm no good at this." And he wasn't. Creativity that didn't involve Counter Surveillance was never his strong point.

She shook her head. "You're not even trying."

"Alright then little miss know-it-all, how about…" He searched the crowd for the right kind of candidate. A stressed businessman, chavy teen…no. She needed a challenge. Then he found them. A smile curled up the corners of his mouth. "Alright, how about them?"

She followed his gaze to a couple not three seats in front of them. The woman a brunette, snow white coat around her shoulders. The man broad shouldered, a grey coat with black velvet collar, a leather clad hand resting light on the bar behind her head. Instead of staring, intently, at each other, they kept their gaze firmly in front as though they didn't need to look into each other eyes because wherever they looked, that's all they ever saw.

Her eyes winded slightly. "Them?" He nodded, a gleam in his eyes that she didn't quite care for. "Well theirs…theirs is a good story."

"Yeah?"

She nodded though, leaning towards him. "Terribly sad though. It has plenty of love and loss, the makings of a good fairytale."

"Come on then, once upon a time…"

She nudged him, and when he turned to glare at her she shrugged as if to say _oops, I slipped. _"Umm, let's see. They used to work together. He…"

"Prince Charming," he added with his usual cheeky grin.

"Was the boss." With a roll of her eyes, she carried on as though he hadn't spoken. "Principled, ruthless and had been known to have a bit of a cruel streak. But he was also understanding, kind and generous. He was adored by his staff and had their absolute loyalty…" The corners of her mouth twitched. "Well, when they weren't lying to him about their health or waving a shot gun in his face."

"Ha, bloody ha!" He made a show of sneering at her.

She coughed and raised a hand to hide her smile. "And she was…"

"Cinderella."

Her elbow connected with his ribs for the second time, hard enough to tear a groan from his throat. "Who's telling this story?" She asked, somewhat frustrated by his interruptions.

"Alright, alright, I'll be quiet." When she looked at him sceptically, he smiled sweetly at her. "Carry on." _Bitch_, he silently added. Theirs was a love hate relationship, though love was possibly too strong a word.

"She was ever so brilliant at her job, beautiful, ever so slightly crazy…"

"Bonkers," he amended quietly, his hands going to his sides in a protective gesture.

She frowned at the interruption but nodded. "Exactly, an annalist. Bookish, slightly shy, naïve even, a total social misfit and she was most definitely rose tinted in our hero's eyes, but everybody loved her."

He leant forward on the bar, his chin cupped in the palm of his hand. His eyes sparkled with interest, though she wasn't 100 sure if it was genuine or not. "Was it love at first sight?" He asked in a way that said he already knew the answer.

"It was love at first sight, not that they would admit it. No, in their eyes they were only colleagues, friends even. Neither of them wanted to believe the simple truth, so it dragged out. A look here, a brush of finger tips there." She was almost smiling. "That was of course until Prince Charming was given a kick in the backside by the resident witch." _There_, she was smiling.

He snorted, that nickname wasn't going anywhere fast.

"So with a new rush of confidence, Prince Charming finally asked Cinderella out for dinner."

"Did she say yes?" He asked, as excited as a child on Christmas day.

She smiled in spite of herself. "Of course she said yes. She put on her best dress and glass slippers and met the handsome Prince at a top London restaurant. Which judging by his credit card bills, coast a small fortune."

At his accusatory stare, she found something interesting on the floor. He shook his head slightly; _well they do train their officers well_.

"And so with a kiss goodnight under the orange glow of a streetlight and a promise of more to come, our star crossed lovers parted company to dream wishful dreams of each other."

If he didn't work with her 24/7, if he hadn't been looking at her face then he might have been mistaken for thinking that she had a romantic side. But he knew better, she was just a good storyteller. _Nothing more_.

"So then what happened?"

She tipped her head to one side, and though her hair fell across her face, her eyes never left the couple in question. "Ah well, see that's when the trouble started. Gossip spread through the office, and it eventually got back to our little Cinderella. And being the shy flower that she is, she called it off, leaving him understandably heartbroken."

He sniffed loudly, gaining them more attention than she would have liked.

"Needless to say their working relationship was strained. Whenever they passed in the corridor, they avoided each other like the plague. They barely spoke and engrossed themselves with paperwork just to evade the awkwardness." She flicked a nail, and couldn't help feeling bad for them. "And just when their relationship reverted back to the same familiar tension and fleeting glances, another blow for our couple. A cruel conspiracy and the _idiocy_ of a co-worker forced them apart. And our hero was left standing beside the docks on a bitterly cold morning, with only a kiss to remember her by."

Her eyes dropped to the floor, any trace of good humour was wiped from her face. Though she would never admit it, she hated herself for running to Mace and the JIC. There were worst crimes than idiocy, but none she could think of ran in the same treacherous vein. None that had affected so many people. None that had been responsible for tearing two people, so much in love, away from each other.

Sensing her discomfort, he shifted in his worn seat. "This a very depressing story."

She smiled. "Ah but there is light at the end of the tunnel. See our hero was heartbroken, but not defeated. He wasn't going to sit back and believe that he would never see her again."

"So he did something?"

Her smile widened, showing off the pearly white of her teeth. "Oh yes, see for the better part of a year our hero called in a few favours, and with a little help from an un-named colleague," she said, raising an eyebrow. He just shook his head, an expression of mock disbelief on his face. "and several contacts they had to bribe, they found her."

The spark of interest, that she was sure was forced, surfaced with a vengeance. This time she knew it was real. "Where?"

x x x

_The weight of the year had taken its toll on him. A tightness had set in around his mouth, and there was a shadow in his eyes that they couldn't remember ever seeing before. His temper still rivalled that of a thunder storm, and Ros had put herself in the firing line. But for once he wasn't frustrated by the interruption; his eyes held apprehension like a cup held water._

_He was aware that she continued to speak, but he stopped listening after those three little words. **We found her**. _

_His voice shook, it sounded strangled, strange even_. _He didn't sound like the Harry they all knew and loved. "Where?"_

_Ros shifted under the weight of his gaze, her own dropped to the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. "Her name's Rachael Ellison, Malcolm found her details. She…she owns a bookshop." _

_She raised her eyes to his and knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear. _

"_Ros, where is she?"_

_She nodded and handed him the piece of paper. She knew she should have left him to it, let him have a private moment, but she needed to see his reaction. She didn't know why, but something, deep inside her mind, told her to stay. _

_As his eyes scanned the handwriting, he felt his breath rush from his lungs as though he had taken a blow to the chest. Harry let the paper fall to the desk; he didn't need to see it anymore. "She's still in London."_

"_Yes. She relocated to Camden, and set up the shop with the money Zaf transferred into Rachael's bank account. She's been there nearly a year now, Harry. She…" Ros paused, watching his face. "She never left." _

For so long he had thought that he would never see her again, see her smile, her eyes. He always thought she would have jumped on a plane and headed to New York, like she had talked about over dinner. But she had always been so close, close enough that he could have walked down the high street and spotted her, and it was terrifying. Had Divine Earth had their way, he would have lost her yet again, without even knowing it.

_He shook himself, refusing to dwell on **the what ifs**. She was all that mattered, and now he had her address. "Thank you, Ros," he told her without looking up. _

_She didn't have to see his eyes to know he was grateful; the twitch at the corner of his mouth spoke volumes. _

x x x

He shook his head; disbelief dictated his wide eyed expression. "The whole time…she was in Camden the whole time?" She nodded soberly. "Christ, no wonder he's been so damn distant."

"Well wouldn't you be? I'm just glad we didn't find out until after that whole mess with Divine Earth was cleared up."

"Yeah, that would have been something, wouldn't it? Two high ranking officers going off the rails during a crisis," he said with a lazy smile. "So what happened next? Did he go and see her?"

"What do you think?"

x x x

_The shop was quaint, cosy, but not small by any means. He couldn't help but wonder how much Zaf had transferred into her new account for her to be able to buy a place like this. On the corner of Camden High Street, no less. He secretly hoped it hadn't come out of their budget. The walls were painted in pale shades of purple, hence the name Purple Pumpkin. Where the pumpkins came in he had no idea, but he liked it. It was very…**her**. _

_Shelves of books lined the walls, overflowing with the classics that she loved. He doubted he would find too many modern authors amongst the dusty tombs. It was more of a library than a book shop, with a reading area of plush chairs filled with cushions. Soothing music filled the air._

_Then there was the smell. Musty books with the underlying trace of vanilla. **Her perfume**. There was no mistaking it; he'd know that almost edible scent anywhere._

_A bubbly blonde wandered over to him as he made his way through the section on Ancient Greece. She tried her best to tempt him over to the poetry section with promises of money off and a flutter of her eye lashes. _

"_No thank you," he said, polite but firm. "I'm looking for…Rachael. Is she here?" He would never get used to calling her by another name. _

_Her smile wavered slightly. "Oh, she's just run out for a few things. She shouldn't be long." With a look that seemed to take all of him in, she wandered back to her post behind the till and made a show of straightening out non existent creases in her top. _

_He smirked into a book dedicated to Persephone. _

_It wasn't long before the bell above the door chimed and the blonde's expression changed. Instead of sending the odd glance in his direction, all her attention focused on the new comer. "Oh Rachael there's someone here to see you."_

_He tried to imagine the look of puzzlement on her face, and stepped out from his hiding place. _

_Ever since Ros had placed the piece of paper in his hand, he had doubted that it was even her. Maybe one of their contacts had got it wrong, maybe she had sold up. All his doubts melted away as his eyes fell upon her. _

_The year hadn't made much of a difference to her, not that he expected it to. She was still breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair had gotten longer, back to a more familiar length. Not that he hadn't liked it shorter. Her fashion sense hadn't changed, although she had exchanged the flowing skirts for black silky trousers, and she still wore the same necklace. _

_He had to try twice before he found his voice. "Hello Rachael."_

_The moment she had seen a movement out of the corner of her eye, a long black coat, her pulse had started to race. She didn't want to believe it, didn't want to believe that he found her at last. Her wide eyes met his, and they were still the honey colour she remembered them to be. Still the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. _

_As he spoke, the soft tones of his voice washing over her like warm water, she felt her heart skip a beat and just for a brief second, she though her legs would go out from under her. _

_She had to lick her suddenly dry lips before she could speak, even then she couldn't stop her voice from trembling. "Harry."_

x x x

"And he swept her off her feet and they lived happily ever after."

"Adam!"

She went for his ribcage again, only to have him grab her by the elbow. They glared at each other for a moment before turning back to face the front.

"Would have been simpler though, wouldn't it?"

"Just a bit," she agreed, pulling her coat tightly around herself. "But then again when have things between them ever been simple?"

He nodded. "Very true."

They watched their couple in silence, sharing a smile as she rested her head on his shoulder. Fingers stroking the velvet of his collar.

"So come on, what happened next then?"

She gave herself a shake and forced her eyes away from the couple in front. "Where was I?"

"Cinderella was in shock," he prompted.

"Ah." She nodded, smiling slightly. "Well, our star crossed lovers did not throw their arms around each other, but they did go to talk somewhere more private."

x x x

"_You know when you said lets go somewhere we can talk, I didn't think you meant the local Starbucks."_

_When they had both been capable of speech, they agreed that talking in full view of the hired help didn't seem like a good idea. She had chosen the setting, the over crowded coffee shop, and he had let her. He wanted her to feel comfortable. And as they took their table towards the back, she did look it. Though he had learnt a long time ago that appearances were deceptive. _

_She smiled into her cup of coffee. God, how she had missed him. _

"_You look well," he said, fumbling for something to say. "And the shop…it's nice."_

_She looked up at him then, her smile wiped clean from her face. Her eyes held a hint of bewilderment. "What are you doing here Harry?" Her voice sounded small, not like herself. _

_He frowned, and looked at his cup. "I…don't know. I just needed to see you, Ruth."_

"_Rachael," she corrected. At his blank look, she spread her hands open. "Not Ruth, please. Too many memories."_

"_Alright, Rachael," he said with a nod. She could tell by his tone that he wasn't happy. "How've you been?"_

_She tapped her finger tips on the table top. When she spoke her voice was barely higher than a whisper. "I missed you."_

_He closed his eyes. Just hearing her say it…He reached across the table and took her hand in his. She surprised him by squeezing his hand when he expected her to pull away._

"_God knows I missed you this year," he told her, searching her eyes. "That place is hell without you."_

_At the mention of work, she pulled her hand back. Worry fluttered across her face, her eyes shone with it. "Harry, what are you doing here? What if someone spots you talking to a dead woman?"_

"_Ruth…" At her dirty look, he held his hands up. "It doesn't matter."_

"_It doesn't matter?" She repeated; her voice laced with contempt. "Harry, you could lose your job."_

_He shook his head. "I don't care."_

"_You bloody should," she growled. "Everything I did, I did it all for you. So you could stop the service from going under. Please Harry," she took his hand, her eyes pleading. "Don't throw that away."_

_He had to look away from those blue, blue eyes. "And what about you? You think I'm just going to leave you now that I've found you again?" _

"_What else can you do?" _

_He brought her hand to his mouth and laid a gentle kiss across her knuckles. "I'll figure someone out, I promise you Ruth."_

_This time she didn't correct him, she loved the way he said her name. **Her real name**. And she couldn't help but smile at the feel of his lips against her skin._

x x x

"The end," she said after a pause.

The spell she had spun by telling the story had broken with the silence and he stared at her, eyes shining with astonishment. "What? No, that can't be the end!"

She turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "And why not?"

"Because Harry quit two years ago. Personal reasons he said, though we always figured he found out where she was." He shook his head. "It doesn't end there, what have they been doing with themselves for the past two years?"

She looked at him, levelly.

"I mean besides that."

A smile curled up the corners of her mouth. "They didn't get married, if that's what you're asking. He'd already done that, and didn't want to end up feeling that bitterly towards her, and she was just happy that they were together at long last. They didn't need a piece of paper to prove that they loved each other."

"Good for them."

She leant in close to him, voice dropping to a low whisper. "And don't tell anyone I told you this but she's got a surprise for him."

He caught her gaze, his own widening slightly. "You mean…"

She nodded. "She's waiting for the right time to tell him, though she already knows he'll be thrilled."

"Ros, how do you know all this?" He asked, watching her closely.

She shrugged and elegant shrug that could mean anything or nothing. "Well I am a spy."

Knowing that was the best answer he was going to get, he shook his head and faced the window. Rain drops travelled down the steamy glass like tears, each one glittered with lights from the street.

As the bus rolled to a strop, they turned to watch the passengers leave. Smiles found the way onto their faces as they caught the familiar eyes of their former colleagues.

She smiled at them, her eyes shone with it like diamonds under lamplight. Her snow white coat pulled tightly around her, a hand pressed protectively against her stomach.

He at her back, hands hovering affectionately above her shoulders. He nodded in their direction. "Happy New Year you two, don't work to hard."

Ros laughed, and unlike her usual laugh, it was almost sweet. "Thank you Harry, night."

Adam watched her, something like bewilderment expressed on his face. He had never seen her like this. She was…different. Outside work she seemed almost…nice. It was spooky.

She felt his eyes on her and turned. "What?"

"Nothing…it's just," he stumbled for the right wording. "You're laughing."

"I have been known to laugh, Adam," she told him, shaking her head. "Besides, I'm happy that Cinderella got her happy ending."

He leant towards her. "You know what Ros; I never knew you had a romantic side."

"Well Adam, there are lots of things you don't know about me."

A truer sentiment had never been uttered by her, and it was one he found hard to argue with. "I'll drink to that."


	3. The Art Of Persuasion

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

**Author's Note: This one is for Kassy, my angel. Without her I probably never would have become this addicted to the world of fan fiction. This chapter does come with an M RATING, so you have been warned. And yes, I know! I love Harry's voice and his hands and his eyes.  
Enjoy and please don't forget to leave a review. I'd really love to know what you think of this one**

**The Art Of Persuasion**

As night descended upon London, midnight blue streaked the sky. Warm hues of receding light caught the very edge of the clouds, pale peach over cream. They were far too dense to be able to see the pin prick of starlight, though that was nothing new. Living in the city, day after day, year after year, he got used to hardly ever seeing a star through the thick layer of pollution that covered the world.

He fancied he could see the stars in her eyes. Tiny flecks of silver hidden deep amongst the blue. And during their most intimate of moments, when silence was chased away by the sound of shallow breathing and pleasure filled moans, he swore blindly that those small flecks became starbursts.

He closed the curtains, smoothing out the wrinkles in the grey material, and turned towards her.

When she looked in the mirror, when he caught sight of her reflection, it was as thought time stood still. Everything disappeared except for her, except for those eyes. In the mirror their flawless colour looked darker, bluer. Like orbs of smoky sapphires, too beautiful to describe. And beauty had a power he couldn't explain.

The dressing table in front of her held only a few choice items, various brushes, a few tubes of lipstick and perfume bottles that twinkled in the lamp light. Her hands hovered above each individual item, weighing their suitability up and down in her head. She eventually settled on a thin, black eyeliner pencil.

He watched intently as she outlined her eyes with the dark kohl. Fascinated by the quick, precise movements of her hand, the flick of her wrist. He couldn't help but wonder if Cleopatra ever painted her eyes in the same way.

"You look gorgeous," he said softly, as though he were afraid to break the tranquil mood they had created.

She paused her task of applying a deep purple colour to her lips long enough to smile in his direction.

"Let's stay in tonight."

Her reflection's eyes flickered to his, a crisp, white tissue half raised to her mouth. "It was your idea to go out."

"So I changed my mind." His voice dropped into a dangerous whisper.

He let his eyes wander over her form appreciatively, taking all of her in. The way her dress clung to her thighs, to her hips and to the swell of her breasts. The light colour across her cheeks that had nothing to do with makeup. The way in which the rich purple of her lipstick, a colour that reminded him of fresh bruises, not only made her lips twice as kissable, but edible.

She was the epitome of temptation with a delicate grace.

She dropped her gaze to her hands as they rested on the polished wood of the dressing table. A blush crept up her face. His gaze was a heated thing as it moved over body like a wave of electricity; she could almost feel it tingle in her fingertips. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood to attention as though he had simulated her with his fingers. And she found herself wishing that he had.

She cleared her throat, and flexed her fingers to rid herself of the image. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "It'll be fun." She smiled, though she didn't sound convinced.

He padded across the floor, his quick steps muffled by the soft, lightly coloured carpet. She watched him come with something close to anticipation in her eyes. Anticipation and desire.

He touched hands to her bare shoulders; a mere brush of flesh against flesh. Warmth seeped outwards from his fingertips and settled low in her stomach. He leant over her, his lips hovering above the silken skin of her earlobe. She swore that as he spoke, she could feel the wetness of his tongue. "Ah, but not the right kind of fun," he said it slowly, his honey dipped voice drawing out each syllable so that it sounded attentive, and vaguely obscene.

She met his eyes in the mirror, smoky blue gazing into warm chocolate. She had to try twice before she could speak. "What-what did you have in mind?" She already knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him. Needed to hear his thick, velvety voice caress it like a lover.

"Lots of things," he said against her ear and her eyes fluttered closed with a sweep of graceful lashes.

At times his voice was an intrusive thing, like a teasing hand, at others it was orgasmic. It hinted at things a couple did alone, in the dark. When hot hands caressed cold, trembling skin beneath silken sheets and muscles tensed before falling into a slow and pleasing rhythm.

"Why are you so keen to go out tonight, Ruth? Wouldn't you prefer to stay here, with me? No pretending to be someone you're not, no cheap alcohol and even cheaper conversation." He smiled against the hallow of her throat, his breath hot against her already flushed skin. "Just the two of us. Wouldn't you like that?"

She had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop herself from telling him _yes_. She was sure he could see the answer shinning, like a crystal under sunlight, in her eyes.

"Ah, but what to do with you…"

His fingers slid across the exposed skin of her shoulders, and worked their way under the thin mauve straps of her dress. "I could undress you, slowly. One piece of clothing at a time. Memorising every curve, every freckle." He touched the edge of her bra, tracing the black lace until his thumbs brushed against the fullness of her breasts.

She followed his reflection's movements, air caught in the back of her throat until she had to force herself to breathe.

"Then a kiss, I think, here," he said, pressing his lips against the curve of her neck. Her pulse racing under his touch. "Or maybe here." His fingers dipped below the necklace of her dress, and the hot tickle that had settled within the pit of her stomach, moved steadily lower.

She pressed her cheek against his, firm enough that she could feel him speak rather than hear him, and rubbed against him like an affectionate cat.

"Which would you prefer, Ruth?" His silken voice whispered bear millimetres from her ear. "My hands or my tongue touching you? Moving over your body? Your hips, your thighs…_higher_." He nipped her earlobe gently, just below the small silver stud she wore.

She whimpered; a soft breathy sound.

His hands moved to her sides. Sliding over the sheer material until he gripped her waist, holding her firmly in place. She could feel the strength in his fingers even though the layers she wore, and wished he would act upon his words and rid her of them.

"I could make it last for hours, Ruth. Brining you closer and closer, but never fully over the edge. The perfect torture."

His hands left her waist, moving over the bend of her hips and smoothing out the soft purple fabric that lay across her thighs.

"And just when you think you couldn't take a minute's more pleasure," he said, watching her eyes flicker beneath black, laden lashes. "I'd give it to you."

A sound, caught between a groan and sob, escaped her throat. She fought the urge to cover her mouth with the back of her hand and ruin her carefully applied lipstick. She couldn't help the tremor that ran down the length of her spine, like someone rubbing an ice cube against her skin. She clenched her fist and drove her perfectly formed nails into the flesh of her palm. The sharp stab of pain did nothing drive away the images his honey dipped voice had created.

_His strong hands on her hips, holding her against the mattress. His lips pressed against hers in a near bruising kiss that stole the air from her lungs. The tips of her fingernails lightly grazing the skin of his back as he positioned himself between her thighs. _

"Well?"

She forced her eyes open and met his knowing gaze. _You bastard_, she inwardly cursed. He knew exactly what he did to her, and how to use it to his advantage. The frustration did little to take the edge of the hot desire coursing through her veins. "God help me, but," she breathed. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat. "We're going to this party."

He sighed, and backed away from her. Hands held up in defeat. He had almost forgotten how much strength she had, how much resistance. It made him love her even more.

She watched him back away in the mirror like a ghost. The black of his suit very nearly blending with the dark coloured walls in the dim light. His warm honeyed eyes watching her as closely as she watched him.

How had she just said no to him? How had she just dedicated herself to a night with total strangers, when she could have him? _Over and over again_. She shook her head to rid herself of the image.

"We'll stay just long enough to show our faces," she said softly, standing and making her way over to him. She placed a pale hand against the crimson of his tie, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "Otherwise Grace and Mark will be upset. Then you're going to take me home. I intend to hold you to everything you said tonight."

He gazed into her stormy eyes, a dark light there to match his own. "How could I resist?" He said, more to himself than anyone, and leant towards her.

She placed a finger against his lips. "If you kiss me, I'll have to re-do my lipstick."

_If I kiss you, we'll never leave this room_, he thought with a smirk. "We mustn't have that."

With a soft, almost breathy laugh on her lips, she tugged gently on his tie and led him towards the door. How he was going to keep his hands off of her in the taxi, he didn't know. And from the look deep within her eyes, neither did she.


	4. A Sense Of Confusion

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

**Author's Note:** **So here we are with another Winter Warmer. This one's for Kate. See what happens when you give me something like "Oh Shag" to work with? But then again, you like strange...right?! Oh and see if you can spot The Avengers references!!  
A big thanks to Em, who took the time to read this weirdness and beta it for me. You're a star!!  
And now I'm rambling, so I'll shup up and let you get on with it! Enjoy and please don't forget to leave a review. **

A Sense Of Confusion

Music drifted in the air. Sweet, subtle and everywhere, its presence wrapped them in a warm embrace that drowned out the meaningless banter of strangers and enhanced the romantic illusions that they both harboured in their secret hearts.

Sparkling wine flowed as freely as water, though not nearly as intoxicating. The golden bubbles burst against the back of their throats and tickled as they laughed. As she drank her fill, a colour seeped into her cheeks that reminded him of fresh spring roses. He loved the effect the wine had on her, it was charming.

They barely spoke throughout the meal, choosing instead to savour the simple yet elegant cuisine and shared glances above the rims of the crystal glasses.

She looked at him from beneath a line of thick, black lashes. Her shining blue eyes hinted at things that two or more did in the dark on a dare; things that made his pulse race. For a moment, he entertained the thought of what she might have in store for him should the evening be a success. His throat ran dry with anticipation, before he realised where he was and shook his head, forcefully, to rid himself of the image.

Almost as though she had picked up on his train of thought, a devious smile tugged up the corners of her mouth and she slipped a slender foot out of her black satin dress pump. Reaching out beneath the table, she touched her foot to his ankle, her toes making winding patterns over the soft material of his sock. His gaze snapped to hers, faster than a steel trap, when he felt the feather light touch. An eyebrow raised itself in question. Her smile deepened as she moved higher, dragging her foot along the firmness of his calf and the bend of his knee. He exhaled sharply as she drover her toes into the tender flesh of his thigh and his grip on the thin stemmed wine glass tightened to near breaking point.

He glared at the triumphant smile on her face before breaking into one of his own. He shook his head slightly. Women – as sure as any bullet, in whatever shape or form – would undoubtedly be the death of him.

With the parting of heavily pouted lips and a smouldering glance across the table top, a flutter of money hit the polished surface with all the grace of a dying butterfly. He knew how the game was played, cash was harder to trace than credit cards. And then they were gone.

Taking her hand in his, he led her through the labyrinth of tables and out the door; their dark coats blending into the night so that to the untrained eye it looked as though they simply vanished, like black cats taking flight.

Laughter spilled out of her throat as she tripped over a seemingly invisible stone on the pavement and his arms shot around her, holding her steady and close to him. She could feel, rather than see, his eyes on her and she smiled, nervously, under the weight of it. She caught his hand between hers and tugged him in the direction she wanted to go in, her hushed voice whispering the words of endearment that she thought he wanted to hear.

As she rushed on ahead, occasionally throwing a glance over her shoulder to make sure he was following, he couldn't help but watch the way her hips swayed as she walked. The way the almost lacy red material of her dress clung to her thighs. In the back of his mind, he knew there was something he should be doing, his whole reason for leaving the safety of his office…but looking at her, he'd be damned if he could remember. She was too tempting for words, like the mythological sirens that lured unsuspecting sailors to their deaths on the rocks, and just as dangerous.

It was a quiet night, with only the distant murmur of late night traffic and the wet slaps of their soles on the pavement to grace their ears. He glanced around, taking in his environment. To a passer-by he would have looked no different from any other pedestrian checking the road before stepping out onto it, but with every quick sweep he clocked several cars license plates – from a brand new Lexus to a white delivery van parked opposite – to make sure no one was there who shouldn't be. He almost smiled to himself. Old habits didn't die, they just lay in wait.

He met her on the steps of the hotel, with her back pressed against the railings and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. A pale peach hue fell across her face from an overhanging light, making her eyes seem bluer, darker, almost hypnotic. He took a step towards her and took her in his arms, his gloved hands running up and down the length of her arms as though he were trying to keep out the cold. She angled her face towards his, seeking his mouth with half parted lips.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her back so that he could look at her. The familiar scent of vanilla assaulted his senses and, for a moment he smiled, remembering when he had first woken to find that scent clinging to his pillow.

"I had a good time tonight," he said as he drew the pad of his thumb lightly across the fullness of her lips.

She dropped her gaze and smiled coyly at him. "It doesn't have to end here," she said, reaching out to straighten his tie. Her fingers smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in the grey silk. "You could always come up."

"Emma…"

The name rolled clumsily off of his tongue and the force of it hit him like a velvet slap.

She looked up at the sound of his voice and met his gaze instantly. Looking into those orbs of intense honey, she felt the air catch in the back of her throat. There weren't many men she knew, if any, that had such beautiful eyes. The kind of eyes that could be cold and warm at the same time, soft but also hard. She couldn't help but wonder how his eyes would look during moments of ecstasy.

He started again but quickly shut his mouth. His eyes widened with the realisation that he had been tempted to say 'yes'. With just a look from her icy blue eyes and a toss of her hair, he had wanted to embrace her and not to let go until the first light of dawn broke the sky. A numbness settled within his chest that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

He had been involved in hundreds of honey traps over the years, all of them successful. His role of "the seducer" was set in stone and not once had he ever been tempted by a target. Not until this woman stood before him. Petite, brunette, with icy blue eyes and the same softly spoken tone of voice and for a brief moment their roles reversed. The seducer had become the seduced.

He exhaled sharply and brushed a stray lock of hair back off of her face, as he had done so many times before with the woman who could have been her twin. His fingers lingered within her hair, winding them through the chocolate strands, and he marvelled at how warm it was.

"Oh Emma, I can't."

She nodded, a tense smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. "I suppose you've got a wife and kids to get home to," she said. Although she tried to keep her tone light, she couldn't stop her bottom lip from trembling with disappointment.

He had a sudden urge to trap that lip with his and, before he could stop himself, he lowered his face to hers.

It was a gentle kiss, a mere brush of lips that grew to near bruising force. She cupped his face between her hands, warming them against his skin, and pressed herself against the line of his body. He parted her yielding lips with several quick, wet flicks of his tongue and licked the roof of her mouth until she groaned, low in her throat.

He pulled away, untangling himself from her mouth and her body, and took a step back. "I'm so sorry," he told her.

She smiled; a slow spread of lips that hinted at the pain of rejection. "Maybe some other time." And just like that, she was gone.

Harry slumped against the iron railings and watched the heavy doors swing shut behind her. Something in the middle of his chest loosened and he wasn't sure if it was relief or disappointment, but he silently hoped for the former.

"Oh shag."

He couldn't excuse himself for it; the enjoyment he felt during their kiss; the thrill of something different. Nor did he want to. It was during that moment of weakness that he realised he was hopelessly and desperately in love with _her_, and always would be.

There was a crackle in his ear a moment before he heard Adam's unusually cheery voice. "Looks like she's got you flustered Harry." He could tell by the wobble in his voice that he was grinning like an idiot.

He glared in the direction of the white obo van and thrust in hands into his pockets. "Oh do shut up Adam and tell me if the tracker's working."

"The signal's fine, she hasn't seemed to notice it. Good work."

"I've had a lot of practice," he said absently and started the walk back to his car.

"So I noticed."

Harry paused at his door and looked across the road at the white van. He was pretty sure Adam was able to pick up his glare on the CCTV cameras. "Goodnight Adam," he growled with as much strength as he could muster. "Let me know if anything turns up, won't you?"

"Sure, you get off home. I'll let you know if she gets lonely."

Cursing the younger man under his breath, Harry threw himself into the seat, his head resting against the cool leather. He reached up a gloved hand and removed the ear piece. The small piece of plastic sat in his hand somewhat accusingly. He considered tossing it out of the window, leaving it for the pigeons to deal with in the morning, but, with a sigh he decided, it would be a useless waste of resources. He didn't fancy explaining to Juliet why the section's budget had to stretch to yet more un-necessary equipment.

He tossed the ear piece into the glove box and, with a quick glance at the road, he turned the key and waited for the familiar roar of the engine.

x x x

He leant against the door frame, shifting his shoulder until he found a comfortable position against the polished wood. He had stopped off on the way home, hoping that a token of his affection would alleviate some of the guilt he still felt and knowing that it probably wouldn't. A red carnation sat idly in his hand; the silken petals tickled the tips of his fingers as he toyed with him absently. His attention, as well as his heart, was focused on the far side of the room.

She was sprawled across the sofa, a blanket tossed haphazardly over her, a hand pressed against her cheek. Her hair fanned out around her face; dark chocolate over the pale cream of the pillow. Her eyes fluttered beneath leaden lashes and there was a peaceful expression on her face that only hinted at the contents of her dreams.

It was a selfish though, but he hoped that she dreamt of him.

He loved to watch her as she slept. When the weight of the world couldn't touch her and her already devastating beauty was tainted by a naïve charm that wasn't often found in their line of work. It was those moments he savoured more than any other because it was something that couldn't be taught. It was just her.

He walked further into the room, ignoring Fidget's cries of irritation as he perched on the edge of the sofa and roused him from his slumber. A small smile tugged up the corners of his mouth as he leant over her sleeping form. He gently nudged her nose with his and he caught the almost edible scent of perfume. Vanilla, but there was something beneath it, something that Emma's simple fragrance had lacked. A cool, mild scent that was unmistakably her.

He touched his lips to hers. The feel of them – soft and warm, like satin rubbing against his mouth – erased any lingering memory of his earlier encounter.

She stirred under his touch and a soft sound escaped her throat as she licked her lips. Thick, black lashes fluttered open and, for one shining moment, he was able to look into her blue, blue eyes when they were at their most pure; their most vulnerable. And they were stunning.

Recognition flashed across her face, chasing away the remnants of sleep, and a lazy smile graced her mouth. "Hey."

"Hello beautiful," he said, stroking the silken skin of her cheek.

She leant into his hand and sighed contentedly at his warmth. "So was it as bad as you thought?" She asked, watching his eyes closely, silently asking him to tell her the most intimate details of his night. "And was she pretty?"

"Worse," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "And she was…she was beautiful."

She nodded, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips. She appreciated his honesty. Her eyes slipped from his face to the flower in his hand and she raised an eyebrow.

With a small flourish, he raised the red carnation to her face so that she could breathe in its fresh fragrance. She closed her eyes as the velvety softness of petals brushed against her half parted lips. He smiled at the breathy sound she made, low in her throat.

He traced the bend of her jaw with the flower's head, and down over the paleness of her throat. She swallowed under its gentle caress. He reached the top of her shirt, where purple cotton parted to reveal yet more creamy skin, and allowed it to dip below the neck line, rubbing against her until her breath caught in her throat.

Removing it from the confines of her shirt, he frowned when he saw that a few of the petals had been lost, and touched it to her buttons. He dragged the red flower along the line of white discs until the purple turned to brown velvet and then pressed the carnation into the hand that lay against her hip.

He glanced up at her face to see her cheeks slightly flushed, desire shining deep within her stormy blue eyes: a desire that he was sure matched his own. When he spoke his voice was breathy, barely above a whisper. "But she wasn't you."


End file.
