Disclaimer: I own none of the characters expect for Alma.

Hello folks. Months ago I watched Bodyguard on Netflix and really enjoyed it. And now that Richard Madden won a Golden Globe award for the best actor on a TV show, I decided to give my inspiration a go.

This story will follow the show's plot with the addition of a new character; Alma, who will be Dave's love interest. There will be some sex scenes but nothing too explicit.

Please let me know what you think of it and remember English isn't my first language.

Trigger warning for the prologue: Suicide.

Prologue

London itself was a contradiction. It was one of the busiest cities worldwide, and yet, if you knew just where to go, you could end up feeling like you were the only person in the world. For some, like me, it was refreshing and truly cathartic. For others, like you, it was threatening and truly scary.

I wouldn't call it rain, but there was a fizzle. My hair was wet and my feet were constantly slipping out of my heels as I walked through pavement. I gazed up, looking at the tall buildings from afar, and decided to take the long way in order to benefit from the calmness some more time.

I made my way through a park and took off my heels to walk barefoot on the mud. I'd certainly regret it in the morning when the dirt would be incrusted underneath my toenails, but right now, I felt free. And freedom was indisputably the best feeling in the world.

Not that I didn't appreciate going to my friend's band smallish concert on the outskirts, but in the end, there were just too many people and too much noise, too little freedom. The park slowly came to an end and I hesitated putting my shoes back on and getting them dirty, or walking barefoot through a large city pavement.

However, those silly preoccupations soon came to a stop when I saw a figure standing still on the bridge's guard rail. I slowly approached the figure and saw the man was shaking, crying.

"Mate, what the fuck!" I yelled, but not too loud as to scare him, just enough to let my presence be known.

He turned his head to look at me. Beautiful face he had, and not even the tears and the swollen eyes could change that. "Go away!" He yelled back, but it sounded more like he was pleading, too weak to give an order.

I shook my head, and walked up closer. I climbed up to guard rail and sat down a couple meters away from him, staring at the deserted road. "I'm sorry mate, but that's not possible. I believe I have a duty to rescue toward other people."

"What?" He yelled confusedly trough the wind as it was now raining harder. I was scared he would slip and fall, because I certainly didn't have the necessary reflexes to stop that from happening. His knees buckled and I thought that was it, but he regained his balance and I was able to breathe again.

"My name's Alma Guinness." I said calmly, stretching out my hand knowing that he wouldn't take. "What's yours?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he kept staring into the city and I dared a small peak downwards. We were high, but not high enough to guarantee a certain death. He'd probably end up seriously injured for life, though.

"Budd," he mumbled. "David Budd," he eventually replied in the thickest Scottish accent I'd ever heard. Good thing I didn't go to college there because I wouldn't have understood anyone, I now realized.

"Nice to meet you, David," I spoke lightly but inside I was shaking. "Now tell me, why are you doing this?"

"Obvious enough, ain't it?" His voice seemed impatient, but somehow it felt like he wanted to be reasoned, to be saved.

"Alright, so your life's a mess and you want to end it?"

He nodded, crying harder but he didn't budge, if anything he moved closer to the edge and I instructively closed my eyes but I heard no boom. Tentatively, I opened my eyes and saw him nodding, ever so slightly. "What happened, David?"

He started saying something, but he was crying too hard and it was pouring now. "You need to speak louder!"

"My wife left me!" He yelled, louder than I expected. "And I suck at being a father!" He started hardcore sobbing, his chest heaving.

"And you think jumping from a bridge will solve any of that?" I asked sarcastically, but the truth was I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. "Best case scenario, you die, your wife becomes a widow and your kids lose their father." He looked at me again, full of agony and I was scared I wasn't up to the task. "Worst case scenario, you become a vegetable."

"Will any of those scenarios make you a better father or your wife stay with you?" He was shaking again, this time harder. One of his feet slipped on the wet metal, I tried to grab his leg but I was too far. Out of nowhere, he managed to regain his balance but I couldn't let this happen again. I started sliding closer to him, slowly enough that he wouldn't notice.

"No." He responded, his voice broken and raw, and yet still so Scottish.

"Then, this isn't the solution, David." I whispered now that I was sitting right next to his feet. "David, I know suicide is tempting, but it's truly inappropriate in your situation." He stood still, so very still even though the wind was hitting his body with unhuman strength.

I stretched out my hand again, the tips of my fingers brushing against his. His hand was frozen. "Take my hand when you're ready." I nudged reassuringly. Minutes passed and my arm was starting to cramp badly but I couldn't let him down.

I was giving up after a while when all the sudden, I felt his hand tighten around mine, his fingers finding warmth behind my own.

On instinct, I pulled him backwards and the both of us fell on the pavement without a scratch. I got back up on my feet and pulled on his hand, bringing him to a standing position, before running into the city with him.

"Why are we running?" He asked next to me, his voice significantly lighter.

"Because it's pouring!" I laughed.

I was out of breath within minutes but David kept on running, evidentially in a much better shape that I was. As we neared the city center, we came to a stop when I saw the time on a pharmacy's logo: It was two in the morning and I had an oral exam at eight. I was hesitating but then I saw David Budd, in the middle of the street looking completely lost and I knew I couldn't just leave him like that.

"Let's hail a cab." I suggested.

The car stopped in front of my building, and David and I stepped out of the vehicle, him still holding my hand like a lost puppy. I brought him up to my messy flat, having neglected the house chores during the exam period but he didn't say anything.

"Alright, I have cookies, Whisky and a half finished Red Bull." I announced cheerfully as I walked out of the kitchen and joined him in the main room.

"Do you want to talk it out?" I asked, not sure if it would work but it was worth a try. However, there was nothing Whisky couldn't help. In no time, it felt as if I knew enough about him to write his biography: Vicky was nurse, they met when they were both 23. He got injured during training, fracturing his foot and Vicky was one of the ER nurses on duty that day. One year later, they got married. One year after that, Ella Budd was born and soon came Charlie, and they were a truly happy family for a while.

And then it happened, Dave was sent to the Helmand Province in Afghanistan. And he never really came back.

"I knew things were off," he explained, taking another sip of Whisky. As much as I was interested in his story, sometimes I couldn't help but to just focus on his voice and nothing else. "Ever since I came back from war, Vicky never again said she loved me. Flinched every time she saw my body covered in scars. And the kids, it was as if they didn't know me and I didn't know them."

The both of us finished our drinks, and David poured the rest of the bottle into our glasses. I didn't know what to respond to that. I was no psychologist, hell, I even went to a psychiatrist weekly myself. And more than that, I knew that whatever people said, it never healed the wound, it just covered it with a new bandage.

"Indeed, that sucks." I admitted after the room had been silent for a while. Dave, laughed hard and it was a very pleasant sound, even quite sexual.

And then his face changed, the whole mood did, and it felt like the TV was no longer running in the background. I was still sitting on the coffee table when he leaned forward, not leaving the couch, but getting close enough to kiss me. And then he did, once, tentatively before stopping, as if gauging my reaction.

I set my empty glass down next to me on the coffee table and kissed him back. Pushing him backwards against the couch before straddling him. His heart was beating fast, and so was mine. My hands were now on the nape of his neck, trying desperately to get ahold of his short hair as kissing was no longer enough. His hands were under my shirt, and they felt warm now, as they got dangerously close to my bra. Without a thought, I pulled away from him a few inches, to take it off and Dave's attention immediately went to my now partially revealed breasts. But I wanted more, and if the pressure I felt between my legs was anything to go by, so did he.

Cheekily, I whispered against his ear: "David Budd, could I interest you in some sex with me?" I felt silly, but it did appear to work because suddenly I was in his arms as he walked us to my bed.

It turned out, the Scottish accent wasn't the only good part about him, I thought to myself. Our chests were glued together with sweat, the both of us still breathing with difficulty after our intense activities.

After a while, I felt his body go limp against mine. He must have fallen asleep after the exhausting night and was now lightly snoring. I wanted to do the same, but daring a quick look at my alarm clock, I realized it was best if I started getting ready to go to my examination.

I softly moved away from him, trying not to wake him up and putting a pillow in the spot where my body had been laying moments before.

After I had finished showering and getting dressed, I realized that he was still fast asleep. Trying to be kind one last time, I set up the alarm next to my bed to ring at ten and decided to leave him a note.

"Next time you want to jump off a bridge, have sex with someone instead."