A/N: First spooks fic! dances I hope you all enjoy.
Beta by: Rach (Thames House) Thank you so much!
Dedicated to: Kat (M'rika) Sorry for not catching up for ages!!
Disclaimer: Juliet and Harry are, unfortunately the property of Kudos and the BBC – if they were mine 6.8 would have been considerably longer.
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Elysian Peace
She rolls over; yawning widely, as she opens her eyes and reaches out to turn the alarm off. Unfortunately, it appears he's had the same idea, and they end up lying on top of each other, in a tangle of sheets and half a duvet. She laughs, softly, and sweeps a hand gently down his cheek.
"We really ought to turn the alarm off," she murmurs, her lips inches from his.
"Mmm," he whispers, while his sleepy kisses caress her skin, and his one hand meanders through her dark hair.
She smiles and briefly kisses him back, before moving to reach out and slam a hand down on top of the offending clock.
"Now," she whispers, her deep blue eyes glowing seductively as her other hand travels slowly down his chest, "...where were we?"
----
He steals a fleeting, gentle kiss as they stand in the hallway, her briefcase in hand, and his keys still in the lock. He smiles at her and runs a hand gently down her cheek in an almost reverent way; as if he can't really believe he is standing there.
She laughs, her eyes lighting up as the sound echoes peacefully around the house, like a gentle wave on calm seas.
"We should go," he says regrettably.
"Yes," she agrees, "...but it's your keys in the lock, and you who seem to not be able to avert your eyes." She smirks, but he can tell she's playing with him, her blue eyes teasing him casually.
He laughs softly.
"Hmm," he murmurs and turns the key in the lock, opening the door to let the dappled sunlight stream in, lighting them up in glorious technicolour.
----
They meet up for coffee to chat and laugh, and to watch the people who pass their window with an air of nonchalant wonder. She reaches for his hand across the Persil-white table cloth and he smiles at her, his chocolate eyes swirling with happiness.
"It doesn't bother you," she murmurs carefully, not knowing exactly why she asks, "...that your ex-wife is moving away, and you're probably not going to see your children again until they're too old to care?"
He looks across at her, his eyes deepening as they cloud with churning emotions. They look raw; like a wound that's never been given time to heal. He just stares at her for a while, watching her infinite sapphire eyes as they examine his face. She is looking for a trace of something – regret, mistrust, anger – but she can't seem to find anything.
Finally, he breaks eye contact, and something seems to shatter inside him. He doesn't say anything for a little while longer, and then he nods, as if reassuring himself.
"Yes," he mutters, "...impossibly so."
He sighs, and runs the only hand that isn't currently in her possession across his suddenly tired face. "But I have you," he smiles, "...and that helps."
----
She likes being near him. Not necessarily too close, but far away enough for them to still appear to be just friends, and always near enough to smell his cologne and to catch his eye.
He needs to be close to her. Even so, he's always carefully distant, but always close enough to reach out for her hand, or smile at her about the secret they share that no one else knows.
They're both still young and foolish. They think no one notices the smiles as their hands brush across documents; the stolen kisses in empty corridors; the joy they seem to gain from just being in each other's company. People see...and consider...and take note. They don't like what they see. Notes travel up the chains - climbing slowly to the top.
So, she's told she's going away to Washington, on the British placement with the CIA. She just smiles at them as they send her away; as they ruin everything she's worked so hard to build. How could they know? Why should they care?
She packs her bags and changes her clothes. By the time he comes home, she's ready to go, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, watching through the open door for the taxi that will take her to the airport.
He walks in, tired and a little annoyed. His day has gone badly, but there's nothing new there. Russia is falling into decline, and everywhere is in chaos as they try and piece together what the hell is going on with the little information they have.
He sees her, just sitting on the step with her suitcases. She looks up at him and smiles sadly.
"They found us out," she murmurs, playing with the straps on her handbag.
Through the open door, she sees the taxi pull up.
"You'd be better to forget," she tells him, almost forcefully, as she stands up and walks towards the door. He just stares at her in stunned silence.
She turns back towards him and smiles for a second. Despite her words, she runs a hand gently down his cheek, their lips meeting for an all too brief moment.
"You know I loved you Harry," she whispers, as she steps back over the threshold.
Then she's gone. Her belongings bundled into the taxi next to her because she couldn't bear to spend more time attempting to cram them in the boot. The engine roars, wind gently whistling past the window as the driver speeds off down the street.
She doesn't look back, not once.
----
Her phone rings. She answers it on the fourth ring, her eyes not moving from the window. Underneath her the city spreads out like a blanket over the land, the millions of lights throwing crazy patterns to rival a firework display into the night's sky.
She somehow knows it's him without looking. She's been in Washington a week and can't seem to settle. She shouldn't have kissed him, she thought, as she'd sat in silence on the plane - England's green and pleasant land disappearing under the clouds. She shouldn't have kissed him; she made them both hope far too much.
She stops thinking as she presses the phone to her ear. She knows this could be painful.
"Hello?"
"Juliet."
He has a particular was of saying her name. She doesn't know what it is, but somehow it sounds different; it has ever since they were introduced all those years ago. She likes it. It makes her feel special, as childish as that seems.
"Harry," she replies, her tone stern and severe, like a school teacher. She doesn't like that so much – it wasn't supposed to sound like that.
"I thought you would have called by now." He sounds so cold that it hurts, but she blocks it out. She has a job to do now, and she can't let this stop her. God, Juliet, when did your heart turn to stone?
"Well I didn't think that was a good idea due to the circumstances." She thinks her answer is pretty good really, a good excuse. But it's not an excuse. You have nothing to excuse yourself for.
She feels like she has a demon and an angel on her shoulders, whispering into her ears like a cheesy cartoon. She closes her eyes for a second, and takes a breath to clear her mind.
"…me you were going." She sighs softly as she realises she's missed the first part of his speech. Thankfully, he pauses, and she has time to work out what she didn't catch.
"You would have gone without saying goodbye wouldn't you?" He sounds so bitter and abandoned. She can see him in her mind's eye, standing looking out over his lamp-lit street, as she is now, with rage burning in his normally gentle eyes. It'll shoot through them like lightening, and his fists will tighten. But beneath all that anger, he'll just seem sad...sad and broken.
She tries to shake off the image, but it just won't disappear. She steels herself as she answers. It's that, or tears, and she knows which one she prefers.
"Yes," she answers simply, "...but I'm glad I got the choice."
----
He watches her sleeping, just like he did all those years ago. He can remember waking up next to her like it was yesterday, but things have changed now. They're not the people they used to be.
She looks so peaceful lying there, with the soft lights from the panels in the ceiling throwing shadows across her pale cheeks. Her hair frames her face, the shadows blending seamlessly into her dark curls.
She looks so helpless. It angers him so much to see her like this; lying in a hospital ward, disabled by corruption and greed. She is just one casualty in Myer's bloody war but, to him, she could be the only one. Stubborn, impulsive, arrogant Juliet. In many ways she's still his, no matter what has passed between them.
She stirs and groans softly as her eyes flicker open, and the light floods her drowsy retina.
"Harry?" she mumbles, her lips painfully dry. She tries to sit up, but, as memories of the incident come flooding back to her, she finds she can't. She swears and somehow it helps.
"Hello," he murmurs, "...having trouble?"
She wishes she could thump him, but settles for just glaring. It doesn't work very well for her as he's still blurred and doubled by her sleep filled eyes.
He laughs softly. He knows he's just trying to make light of the situation, but he can't help it. He's relieved when she smiles tiredly and reaches for his hand, entwining their fingers gently. He smiles back.
"No pain?" he checks quietly.
She shakes her head. "No pain," she murmurs, whilst almost wishing that there was. Pain would be better than this nothingness.
She sighs as he stands up.
"I've got to go," he whispers.
She nods and yawns slightly, "What time is it?"
"Late," is his only reply as he takes his coat from the back of the chair. "I'll come back tomorrow."
She catches his hand, squeezing it fondly. "Thank you," she says, smiling sincerely.
He bends down and lays a kiss on her forehead, careful not to touch the angry, purple bruise that's growing there.
"Goodnight Juliet."
"Goodnight Harry."
Then he's gone. She watches him leave, and her eyes are still fixed on the door when the nurse wanders in to check on her.
She finds it ironic, really, that she watches him go like that - as if she'll never see him again.
Always one left behind.
Watching her...watching him...watching them.
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