So, first off, apologies for not posting any fic at all for ages; working in education means little free time during term-time! I'm a bit nervous to be here again, especially with such a speculative fic.

Secondly, I've been thinking for ages about Spook's return and the press pack has only intensified it. Spoilers from *THIS POINT* for Ep1 and possibly beyond.

If Kudos has taught us anything, it's to expect the unexpected, so I'm mentally exploring all 'family' angles to prepare myself. As far as Ruth's return goes, in any situation, I'm prepared to have such high expectations that nothing can meet them and will leave me disappointed. As a result, I've come to the conclusion that as long as I can understand the story they've given her, I can learn to be happy, even if I don't like it per se.

Here, is the result of me imagining one possible (and not especially enjoyable) scenario…Ruth and the worst case of ‘family’. It’s just a snippet, a little snapshot that (if it were reality) would fit mid-ep somewhere, so try and imagine it in that context…perhaps I’ll write what comes next, perhaps not…I’m really not sure.

Skidding to a halt, they round the corner and stop abruptly. The decision to come here seemed so simple when she made it, so sensible and clear in the horror and madness of the moment. Every safe house committed to memory, even after all this time, ready to be recalled for times like this. Or perhaps not quite like this.

She looks at him, the man beside her, someone so familiar yet still a stranger. She takes in all six foot of him, angular jaw line and subtle muscle. His light tan seems out of place on the cold, grey London streets, too warm and sunny against the pebble-dashed exterior of a building long neglected by its secretive owners. Now they are here, panting, nervous and out of breath, she has to remind herself just how much is at stake and why she needs to do this. One jiggle of the lock (or ten, she supposes, with her luck) and a push of the door and the entire house will red-flagged. People will come, her safety and her future torment wrapped up together and arriving in slick black cars and fitted jackets.

She studies her companion carefully once more, and her heart skips a beat for all the wrong reasons. There are so many ways she rationalises what she has done, but none of them ever free her conscience from its uneasy state. Nor does she believe they will lessen the pain of her actions towards another who she holds in such warm regard.

Never has she been able to come to the conclusion that she loves him, only that he is loveable; a companion, an ear, a pair of strong, protective arms. In her darkest, most honest moments, she is sometimes able to admit exactly what he is - a distraction.

He started as a distraction in the eyes of others, someone to fill a gap and stop the questions. "Seeing anyone?" "Why don't you find someone?" "A woman, travelling alone...?" With him, she was less of a puzzle to those around her. No longer was she a nobody with a past which couldn't be mentioned, she was half of a pair with a present to share and plan and talk about.

Before long, he was a distraction for her, too. The flat wasn't empty any more, the meals no longer cooked and served for one, the conversations no longer unanswered.

Somehow, in those desperate, searching times, it hadn't ever occurred to her that at some point he would have to cease being purely that occasional distraction to be wheeled out at convenient moments, and when she finally awoke to the fact, the confusion she felt panicked her more than the notion of confronting the matter. She could have run; done it all again. Restarted. Lied again. Avoided the questions. But for how long?

And the truth of the matter was that she was tired of running. She was tired of running and not even sure she wanted to run from him. For all his faults, most namely his inability to fill a gap in her heart so deep and painful, she liked him. He was kind, funny, well read and accepted her as she came, secrets and all. Worst of all, there were times when he would look at her in a way which threw her backwards into her past and allowed her a moment's *disillusioned* refuge in a memory normally locked away.

So here she is, nearing 40, not in love yet not alone, and inextricably tied up in the tangled deceit and delusion of her own making. She has been sure, for so long, that she would never feel as lost as three years ago, and yet today the numb hollow pit inside her is now slowly taking over, growing larger than its ever been. She could weep, right now, for so many reasons; for her own life, torn apart so many times; for the man beside her so utterly oblivious to the pain about to be unceremoniously forced upon him; for the man she hopes will fix this all if only she can be forgiven; for the almost certain danger which will await them both.

Reviews are welcome. Please don’t flame though…remember, this is just hypothetical and a way to get my head around a potential problem that Kudos have (possibly) invented, not me!

Thanks for reading xx