Author's note, 2 August 2018 - The story you find below was written as a sequel to 'Another turn'. Said story was my response to a fanfic by Shakayla and Clarisse Elizondo. WildMeiLing was among those who understood why I wrote 'Another turn' and in her concluding review she hinted at the fact that she might be 'a hopeless romantic' (referring to the fact that said fanfic - which I have now removed from the fandom - happened to end with the separation of the Queen and Joe after an argument about him having violated her had come to a dead end). I wrote 'Another couple' as a surprise for WildMeiLing's birthday.
Another couple
"How did Joseph feel about the introductory art class?" Matteo asked.
"He didn't feel like going there again," Rosa replied. She looked at her husband as if he were to blame for Joseph's general grumpiness.
"Retirement isn't easy for everyone," Matteo said as he put the last groceries in a kitchen closet. "He just needs to find something to replace work."
Rosa shrugged. "He's unwilling to do so."
"He didn't exactly have a normal job," Matteo defended his brother.
They looked into the garden where Joseph was lying on the grass. An old fisherman's hat of Matteo covered his face.
"The Queen's in Madrid for a conference. It was on the news this morning," Rosa said.
"She might visit him then."
Rosa shook her head. "He was watching too. He mumbled something about 'full Queen mode' or so and he marched out to cut wood."
"So he did that! I forgot to ask you whether you'd ordered more firewood."
"Matteo really! I think they must have had a fight of sorts."
"They? Joseph and the Queen? What about?"
"Well, they went to that beach house and they got sick rather badly."
"And you think she blames him for that? It was fungus or so. Joseph couldn't have known that: it could have happened to anyone."
"You never can tell how royalty behaves."
Matteo wasn't convinced. "He didn't leave right after they recovered, did he?"
"Because it took a while before he found out that she blamed him," Rosa reasoned. "Poor man: his job was his life."
A breeze blew the hat from Joseph's face. Joseph didn't bother to catch it. Rosa took a lemon and sliced it.
"He needs to find something new. I'm afraid he'll inflate one of these days."
OoOoO
Joseph appreciated it that his brother and Rosa had given him shelter. He knew they were worried for him and he knew that he ought to be grateful for that, but he didn't have it in him to even express that sentiment, let alone get engaged in the hobbies they selected for him. He did as little as possible for anger raged in him and he feared that should he become part of normal life, the anger would explode somehow. He would… He didn't know what he'd do. Pick up the axe, mistake Rosa for Clarisse and force her to admit that she was wrong and he was right? He was right: he loved her. What he'd done in that hellish basement had always been an act of protection and love. The kidnappers had been evil, but he wasn't. No he wasn't. No matter what she had told herself. He understood that the circumstances weren't ideal, to use an understatement. Everything surrounding them had been vile, from the kidnappers to the stained mattress and the scent in that room. But Clarisse had admitted that she'd hoped that at her holiday house the two of them would become more than friends. Lovers. She hadn't used the word, because she was so bloody controlled – Joseph's heart beat increased rapidly. A breeze cooled his skin and blew away his hat. He lay perfectly still to fight his rage.
He remembered covering her neck with butterfly kisses, caressing her hips with his fingers. He'd tried to take her away from there by whispering about a romantic place, candlelight, divine music. It had worked for him and in the end she too had escaped captivity. It had been glorious: the two of them making love. She had styled it 'rape' later on.
Joseph's fingers moved into a fist. He breathed out and relaxed his hand.
He'd told her repeatedly that he'd protected her, but his words had fallen on deaf ears. She'd said that he shouldn't have obeyed the kidnappers. He'd countered that she was burdened by shame: shame for finding pleasure in hell. Shame for what the other men did to her. They'd used her. Violently. Joseph's fingers dug into the grass. He'd made love to her. Love. He'd anticipated it for years. He'd wanted her to experience pleasure and that's what he'd done. The fact that the leader of the kidnappers had told him to tie her up had made it easier for him to pretend that he lived his fantasy. That wasn't his fault. Had their relationship developed in a normal way, Clarisse surely would have surrendered her control to him, no matter how vehemently she'd denied her feelings in that matter. Joseph forced himself to breath in and out deeply to steady himself. Don't get stuck in this, he told himself. She's the one to make the first step. As long as she's not ready to admit that she's wrong, there's nothing for you to do.
"Joseph! I made lemonade!"
The words slowly entered his mind. Lemonade. He could do with a different sort of drink but he got to his feet.
OoOoO
Rosa had assigned him with the task of hoeing her flower beds. Joseph executed it without thought. He faintly heard the door bell and not long afterwards he heard his sister-in-law's voice come closer and closer. She always introduced him to all of her friends, and for her sake he was polite to them. He hoped she would be satisfied with a casual greeting this time and as if to stress that he had things to do he used the hoe to knock apart a lump of clay. Rosa said his name and he pretended not to hear it. When she excitedly repeated his name he turned around, half expecting her to be accompanied by Catalina, the single friend whose praises she'd sung.
"Hello Joe."
"Charlotte!"
"Why don't you take Miss Kutaway to the seat under the tree Joseph?" Rosa said and she left after announcing that she'd get them something to drink.
Charlotte hugged Joseph and asked him how he was doing. With her being one of three people who knew some details about the kidnap here was a chance for Joseph to confide. Charlotte's kind eyes seemed to invite him to do so, but he merely said: "I'm hanging on. How are you Charlotte? How's Shades and all the rest?"
"Ehm," Charlotte started. "I am fine Joe. Shades is slowly getting used to being in charge. Big shoes to fill you know."
Guessing that his friend wanted to talk about her employer, Joseph asked her questions about former colleagues. Rosa joined them with soda and tapas.
"I know you'll have a lot to talk about, so I'll merely join you for one glass if that's all right. Over the years Joseph told me so much about you! I'm glad to finally see you. Not that I mean you should have come sooner, I know how loaded your schedule is, but it's really nice to see someone from Joseph's working days. I guess you were in Madrid, with the Queen?"
Charlotte confirmed this, adding that Her Majesty had returned to Pyrus. Joseph remained silent, even when the women started to talk about the Spanish capital, a city he knew well. Despite Madrid's beauty the topic didn't last long. In the following silence Rosa gulped down her soda and took her leave.
"How is she?" Joseph said once his sister-in-law was out of hearing range.
"I don't know Joe," Charlotte said in what was a near-whisper. "You know her. She's professional. No one would guess that… How are you coping with what they did to you?"
"It was part of the job," Joseph said. He never had nightmares about the pain the men had inflicted on him. If he had bad dreams they were about the kidnappers hurting Clarisse. He had protected her! No rape: protection!
Charlotte seemed to struggle to speak. Joseph, thinking that she thought he was lying, said: "I can handle it Charlotte. Really I can."
Charlotte's eyes were shimmering with tears. "What about what she did to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"She blamed you, didn't she? For the kidnap."
Joseph sat frozen. Charlotte cast him a look filled with compassion.
"Oh God Joe. I'm so sorry."
"She told me she didn't blame me Charlotte, and I believe her."
"Oh Joe. Always protecting her, aren't you? I admire her, you know that, but I just don't understand. If she doesn't blame you as you say, why are you here now? And don't say 'retirement' for that isn't like you."
Needing a moment to come up with an answer, Joseph took a sip of his drink.
"Did they beat you so badly that you feel you can't work anymore?" Charlotte tentatively asked.
Joseph shook his head. "Sometimes when people go through something together, it brings them closer. Sometimes it drives them apart. The latter is what happened to us."
"After I heard you were leaving I cried my eyes out. The castle is different without you Joe. And so is she."
"She was strained around me Charlotte. Is she more relaxed now? Honestly?"
"She is not strained," Charlotte reluctantly said. "But she doesn't wear colourful outfits anymore and she barely smiles. Only when princess Mia came to visit last month she seemed to be her old self again. But you know Joe, why would she have felt strained around you? You were in it together. Shades and I discussed this and we'd both be grateful to have a friend nearby if… you know."
"I couldn't help her Charlotte. She was hurt and I couldn't fight them."
Charlotte reached out to touch his hand. "Oh Joe."
Joseph looked away. Charlotte asked him if he enjoyed working in the garden.
Joseph nodded for he preferred innocent topics. He told his companion about the other things he'd undertaken, while keeping to himself that he'd never given them a second try.
OoOoO
At diner Rosa told Matteo all about Miss Kutaway's visit. Joe faked enthusiasm. He hoped Charlotte would never return.
OoOoO
In the middle of the night Rosa and Matteo woke up from a pained cry coming from Joseph's room.
"A nightmare," Rosa whispered when no other sounds disturbed the quiet of the night.
Matteo agreed with a yawn.
OoOoO
Hearing Joseph come down the stairs Rosa poured him coffee. When she put the cup on the table she looked at the door, for like clockwork Joseph would enter at that very moment. He didn't. Rosa concluded that he'd gone to the downstairs toilet. When she heard the sounds of someone throwing up she hoped he'd made it so far.
"Joseph, are you all right? Can I get you something?"
By way of a reply there was more throwing up. Rosa filled a glass with water, wet a kitchen towel and went to nurse her brother-in-law, who was bent over the toilet. To her shock he was crying.
"I hate being sick too. Feels awful, doesn't it?" she said.
Expecting nor receiving a reply Rosa cleaned Joseph's face and offered him some water.
"Do you feel dizzy Joseph?" she asked while flushing the toilet. "Must have been something you ate, though Matteo and I ate the same. I guess we were lucky then, weren't we?" she babbled. "If you're ready to stand, I'm here to hold you if need be."
Joseph slowly rose. He moved as if he didn't know what to do. Rosa put her arm around his waist and shuffled him to his room.
OoOoO
Joseph developed a fever and the doctor they called mentioned that several of his patients had influenza. Neither Rosa nor Matteo told him that at times Joseph would start crying and bang his fists on the bed or on his stomach: it seemed too personal. They both believed Joseph's illness to be connected to Miss Kutaway's visit, but while Matteo thought that the young lady's stories about her colleagues made his brother strongly regret retirement, Rosa reasoned that Charlotte Kutaway had told Joseph that she was dating someone and that Joseph, who must love her in secret, was devastated as a result.
OoOoO
Rosa prepared Joseph a bath. As the water was running she selected clean nightclothes and underwear. Despite a creaky closet door Joseph remained asleep. After a week of illness his face looked decidedly different: he'd lost at least ten pounds and there was a vulnerability in his features Rosa had not seen there before. After waking her recovering patient she informed him that he needed a soak. With his pyjamas practically glued to his body Joseph slowly and not too steadily walked to his bathroom. Rosa stayed in his bedroom where she opened a window and relished the fresh air entering. Her next act was to change his bedding. The splattering sounds in the background reassured her and she left to prepare Joseph a light meal. As she placed it on his bedside table she heard the bath being drained.
"Joseph? Did you enjoy your bath?"
"Yes."
"Good. I made you lunch. It's right here."
"Thank you Rosa."
Half an hour later Rosa came to check on Joseph. He'd eaten most of his food and he was sound asleep. She vowed to herself to restore his weight and to find him a partner. Feeling the need to do something for him right now Rosa tugged him in. She was about to caress his cheek when she recalled how strongly he'd responded to that in his feverish state. Her strong brother-in-law had curled up and he'd whimpered like a wounded animal. Rosa withdrew her hand: she didn't want to do that to him, or to herself, again.
OoOoO
Dear Charlotte,
I hope this letter finds you well. I appreciated your visit, though I fear I wasn't a good host.
Please hand the envelop you find included to Her Majesty and tell her that it is accompanied by my deepest respect.
With warm regards,
Joe
PS In case she refuses it, kindly let me know.
Shades handed Charlotte the letter he'd just finished reading.
"It breaks my heart to think that he feels that she might not accept his letter," Charlotte said.
"She'll accept it."
"And not read it…" Charlotte mumbled. She looked at the door to the Queen's office. Her Majesty's meeting with the Genovian Organisation for Refugees Abroad was running out and Charlotte was glad for the opportunity it brought to consult her boy-friend.
"That's for her to decide."
Charlotte sighed. "And he'll be waiting for a message. It's so sad! And the other thing is that his letter might cause a fall back. I'd hate to see her that way again. Detached. They were so good together."
"I know. But things change Charlotte."
Charlotte pressed Shades's hand. We will never be torn apart, she silently vowed.
OoOoO
Knowing that once she'd read Joseph's letter she wouldn't get a lot of work done the Queen put it away in a drawer right after Charlotte had left. After reading five pages of a proposition of law she set the pile of paper aside in favour of the menu for a small party she'd host in a month's time.
'A reminder: Professor and Mr Halévy require kosher food' was the first thing she wrote on the menu. 'Maximum of two courses with pears + doctor Gilbert is with child: please mind that – I think she hasn't dared to inform the staff.'
Why, Clarisse thought, why does he suddenly pop up, just when I was feeling a little better? I mourned him. She angrily picked up a gift from the chairman of the GORA. It was a book containing interviews with refugees. People who are worse off than you are, she sternly told herself. She paged through the book, reading a line here and there, but she couldn't focus.
To her mind there were two Josephs: the old one, who'd been a cherished part of her life and the new one, who'd emerged during their weekend in hell and who'd continued to hang around in the months following. Where once a mere raised eyebrow had told an entire story between them, the new Joseph and she were incapable of speaking the same language, and the more words they used the worse things had gotten.
The Queen poured herself some cold tea and picked up the book again but all she could think of was that she was new too. The fear and humiliation she'd suffered would sometimes show in her mirror but for some time now she could handle that. She'd tell herself that the kidnappers were dead and buried and that they'd not broken her and as a result of those gentle words her features would soften. It was strange: she hadn't sent Joseph away to make the weekend in the basement seem less hellish, but just that had been the result. With the new Joseph having left the old one's loss forced itself on her excluding all else.
What if his message revealed him to be the new Joseph still? Would her memories of the old Joseph be forever erased? No. She would remember the old Joseph even if his new version did not. Clarisse stared down and recalled how the new Joseph had squatted in front of her desk, saying that he still fantasized about tying her up. She dropped the book on her desk with a bang and made herself finish another task. And another one. The tasks didn't require a lot of thinking and Clarisse could almost believe them to be wonderful distractions. Once she'd picked up the complicated proposition of law again she realised that half her mind was elsewhere.
"Seriously," she mumbled as she opened the drawer. "Let's see what he has to say for himself."
May we meet?
Joseph
She turned the paper, held it against the light. Four words, no more. Such a bold question! Clarisse stared at the lines as if she challenged them to change shape. There wasn't even a heading. Had he hesitated how to address her? May we meet? Ha, the nerve! She tossed the letter aside in favour of an article in last month's Country's Voice by a scientist who would soon be introduced to her. On finishing the text her eyes involuntarily went to Joseph's letter. His question was written in his usual hand, as was the first letter of his name. The rest of his name had been written in separate letters, reminiscent of those of six-year-olds struggling to go from drawing to writing. For the rest of the day the Queen pictured Joseph penning his message.
OoOoO
Joseph studied the host's collection of cacti. When he heard cars come to a stop he wiped his hands on his pants. He heard voices, but in his state of mind he couldn't make out what was being said.
The door opened and Shades entered, looking very professional. Despite his anxiety Joseph couldn't be but content that he'd trained such a man. He also felt a pang of misery knowing that it was no longer up to him to keep his Queen safe. Shades saluted him. Joe shrugged away the respectful gesture.
"Good to see you Joe," Shades whispered.
Joe just nodded and Shades left him alone.
"Your Majesty," Joe heard him say, "Mr Romero has arrived already."
Of course he had. One doesn't keep a Queen waiting. The redundant remark sounded like an introduction of sorts. Every high heeled click and clack prepared Joseph for her arrival, yet when she stood in the room and the door was closed behind her, he didn't know what to say. She looked no different than he remembered. A bit warily perhaps, as if she was about to attend a tedious session of Parliament. He inclined his head.
"Joseph."
There was no warmth in her voice, but Joseph hadn't expected that: she'd set up this meeting, and that was what mattered. Her perfume entered his nose and he recalled an evening in San Francisco.
"I'm glad the Prime Minister allowed us the use of his holiday house," Clarisse said.
Joseph nodded and cleared his throat, but he remained silent.
"I couldn't let you come to the castle. And meeting you at your brother's house seemed too… complicated."
"I – I understand."
OoOoO
Clarisse realised that she may appear to be an Ice Queen to him, but today wasn't the first time when she was grateful for being able to suppress her feelings. She suggested them to sit down. The sitting area contained a couch and a single chair. She chose the latter. Joseph asked her whether she'd like some water. She was too anxious to be thirsty, but she accepted his offer, partly because it would give her something to do later on and partly because a rejection would be a bad start of their strange gathering.
When Joseph approached with the glasses, Clarisse put down two lace coasters.
"I hope these aren't meant to be ornaments," she said.
Because of the place of his coaster Joseph had to sit as far away from her as possible, though the couch wasn't too big.
Clarisse waited. She had a view on the garden and saw half a guard stand behind a small shed. They were everywhere after what happened. Or rather: after she'd sent Joseph away.
Joseph cleared his throat, but remained silent. Clarisse lost her patience: "Why did you ask for a meeting?"
Joseph carefully put his glass on his coaster. "Because of a nightmare. May I tell you about it?"
"If you must."
Joseph inclined his head. "I imagine you can picture how my nightmare started."
Clarisse didn't respond. Joseph looked away from her to stare at his glass.
"You and I woke up in a basement. There was a sound of a whip. The walls closed in on us. Men entered wearing babies' masks. They did things." Joseph swallowed hard. "The nightmare transformed –"
Clarisse tensed. If he were to say 'into a dream of us making love in your suite' she'd leave instantly.
Joseph kept his eyes on the table in front of him. "– and I was suddenly part of the rescue party. My men and I went inside. We were knee-deep in mud. We hunted the kidnappers through dungeons."
Clarisse had wondered how it would have been had she been the only one to get kidnapped. Joseph would have been Joseph still. Would she have changed too much to continue their friendship? She drank some water while Joseph said that the kidnappers turned into werewolves and that he and his men had to search for silver bullets. First babies' masks and now werewolves? she thought. She could imagine what those images stood for, and for a moment she feared she was being played. She was about to say that she didn't need to hear all that but looking at Joseph a line from Hamlet came to her: 'Look whe'er he has not turned his colour and has tears in's eye'. She held her tongue, knowing that Joseph wasn't making things up.
"And all the while we heard Mia's cries echoing," Joseph said.
Clarisse's stomach turned into a knot.
"We found her in an old prison cell. She had c- cuts on her chest, her back had been whi – whipped and - "
"No more!"
Clarisse drank some water. Her coaster showed a lace poppy and she forced herself to think whether poppies grew in Spain to replace images of Amelia being hurt. The moment she put the glass down Joseph softly continued: "You tended her wounds yourself, using a potion you'd made. The marks on her body vanished."
Clarisse felt an itch on her back where lines marred her skin. Her ladies-maids must think that it was old-age vanity that caused her to dress by herself these days. A potion to make the marks go away, a dreamer's wish. Again she looked at Joseph, whose hands were trembling.
OoOoO
Joseph felt bile rise in his throat. He dared not look at Clarisse for fear that he would not finish his tale if he did.
"Shades was beaten heavily. He said that he'd protected the princess," Joseph slowly said. "I reasoned that he'd offered himself as a b- bait rather than see her get h- hurt even more. I said I was pr- proud of him. He said that he lo- loved Mia."
Joseph coughed to gain control of his voice again. "They made me. And if I didn't, they would have her again and humiliate and hurt her even more, while all I wanted to do was protect and love her. She doesn't understand Joe. Help me make her see that I'm not a rapist."
From the corner of his eye Joseph felt Clarisse stare at him.
"I took my gun. I blew his head to pieces."
Joseph heard Clarisse exhale audibly. He needed a moment to recover from reliving his nightmare and also to brace himself to face his Queen. When he did, she sat with her eyes closed, and she rested her back against the chair. It was a perfectly ordinary posture for anyone but her.
"I am so sorry Clarisse."
Her eyes fluttered open.
"You were right. I was wrong. It was rape," Joseph said with self-loathing. "I raped you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Clarisse. Of the awful things I did. And said."
Seeing his Queen cry and knowing she must have cried often because of him made Joseph want to shrink into nothingness.
"I'll leave you in peace now," he said, but his legs didn't carry him away, like he'd planned. He felt nauseous and sat with his elbows on his knees and his tear-streaked cheeks in his hands, effectively hiding him from her gaze. He sobbed where he'd thought that his feverish week in bed had left him tearless.
OoOoO
Empathy was one of Clarisse's traits but the sort of overwhelming tiredness that comes over people who at last fly into a safe haven, kept her seated. Salty moist tickled the corner of her mouth. She hadn't even known she'd been crying. Joseph still was. She let him. It was good to cry. He'd also started talking again and she needed to hear his explanation about having acted the way he had. Protection, shame. But his shame, not hers. "I'll leave you in peace now," he repeated but again he didn't move.
Her Joseph had miraculously surfaced, bruised and battered though he was. Clarisse rose to take three small steps to sit next to her old friend.
"Leave me in peace? You gave me peace of mind."
OoOoO
Joseph tensed. He looked to his right as if he wondered whether he'd heard her correctly. There she was. Tear-streaked cheeks, shining eyes and a smile that befitted the Madonna.
He moaned. When she placed a hand on his back he started to shake.
"Hush," Clarisse whispered, "it's all right."
He sat up. "It is not. I hurt you."
"I was hurt most by what happened afterwards. But as I said: you just gave me peace of mind."
Joseph sat back, feeling he was having the strangest dream ever. See: Clarisse sat back too and she smiled at him. He ought to tell her that she couldn't look at him with such kindness. Not at him. Never at him.
"I thought I'd lost you," she said.
Joseph understood the implications of her remark. Through his tears he watched her hand move up. He tensed. When her fingers connected with his cheek he wanted to warn her for himself but instead he whispered: "My Queen."
The words came out like they used to sound a long time ago. Clarisse started crying. She placed her head on his shoulder and he slowly put his arms around her, ready to stop should she seem uncomfortable. She leaned into him, relaxed as if there'd never been a basement. He held her tight. Liquid joy mixed with humbleness fell into Clarisse's hair.
OoOoO
Clarisse studied the cacti. She'd never cared for this kind of plants but she planned to ask the Prime Minister for some cuttings for her suite. Joseph refilled her glass and shyly sat down next to her.
"So," she said.
"So."
"Here we are again."
"Yes please."