A/N: And now for something completely different…very modern, very AU and very Mary and Richard. So, I have spent some time debating whether to post this or not but I thought hey, why not? If a few people enjoy it that's more than good enough for me and it's a helluva a lot of fun to write! It also marks my first exploration into an approximation of smut covers head with bag. So anyway, I am very very nervous, so comments much appreciated. The most mahoosive thanks to my beautiful beta, mrstater for her endless help and encouragement and to jadeandlilac for her always enthusiastic cheerleading.

Our almost-instinct almost true.

Richard ascended the staircase, one hand on the white banister, the sounds of the party diminishing into white noise behind him. He undid an extra button on his shirt; he had drunk more than he had for weeks but they deserved this night out, especially here, in the home of someone he was well within his rights to look down on. Eyeing the rigid formulaic décor as he reached the top of the stairs he smirked slightly as he thought of the sheer elegance and originality his own wife brought to their home – and without the help of an extortionate interior designer.

His wife. She looked beautiful tonight, as she always did, every head in the room turning to look at her when they walked in, the shimmery fabric of the designer dress seeming to enhance every asset of her slender figure. The light danced on her smooth skin and he'd found himself taking a sharp gasp of breath as he felt the curve of her waist beneath his hand when she turned to smile at him during a particularly dull conversation.

He watched her. He, who commanded attention in the boardroom, who could shout over and above anyone of any station, was reduced to silence at her side. He was more than willing to allow her to dazzle, to shine as she brushed her hair away from her face to display the diamond earrings that had cost tens of thousands of pounds. He was the supporting act, she the star, at every occasion, and it made him shine a little brighter, his star ascend somewhat higher in people's estimations. Not that he cared what they thought. Oh he was proud of her, so very proud but it was the reassuring hand in his, the gentle curve of her lips, every knowing look and raised eyebrow that sustained him through any long and boring function.

Richard rapped lightly on the door that he remembered being the bathroom.

"Mary?"

She opened it part way, observing him with a raised eyebrow and a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Darling, do you make a habit of pursuing women to the bathroom?"

"Not women," he replied. "You."

"Oh I see. Ladies then," she pursed her lips and nodded, the door still half closed so she had not quite stepped out into the corridor.

His eyes flicked over her face and rested on her lips, the corner of his mouth raised into a smile that deepened the dimple in his cheek.

"Are you going to keep me standing here all night, Lady Mary?"

"Not all night…" she said leaning forward and taking hold of the front of his shirt, drawing him to her so their lips were barely touching. "Only until it becomes unbearable."

"It's unbearable now," he whispered into her mouth before pressing his lips to hers.

His hand clasped the small of her back and pressed her tightly against him as they stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. He twisted his hand behind him and fumbled with the lock until he heard a reassuring click, his lips never leaving hers as he deepened the kiss, tasting her, every familiar sweet sensation flooding through him. She did not yield in his grasp, ever a match for him and Mary reached up and crossed her arms around his neck as he pushed her against the wall. She moaned quietly with the little breath his passionate kiss left and moved her hands down past the defined muscles in his upper back and then lower, pulling him closer so she could feel the heat between them.

His hand reached up to her shoulder and his fingers gently smoothed and circled the skin around her collarbone before slipping beneath the strap of the dress and pushing it loose. Richard's moist lips met her neck and Mary felt a shiver of pleasure traverse the length of her body; he never lost the power to arouse the most intense sensations in her, even when they were arguing, especially when they were arguing. This was just as sweet, this frantic forbidden desire that had found them in many a compromising position when perhaps they ought to have been behaving more like chaste adults.

They were a handsome couple, she knew that, she knew people admired them and courted their company. Mary knew too that she was graceful and elegant, beautiful, but Richard was a rough diamond and without him she would not be able to cast quite so strong a light. He inflamed her; he stoked the fire and ignited a flame that she sometimes doubted she could control at all. He gave her courage and the protection his love cast around her was something she had never experienced before. When she was with Richard, especially when they were like this, every facet, every chink in her character was revealed and he loved and made love to it all. He loved every fault, every flaw, every selfish act or desire, he knew her, every piece of darkness and he lived there, in every shadow even whilst enjoying the light.

Mary felt his teeth graze her neck and a flutter of breath escaped her lips as he continued to kiss all the way down to where the dress had now fallen away to her breast. His tongue was hot and she arched her back slightly as he traced over her skin, his hand reaching up to remove the other strap so that her dress fell around her feet and pooled on the floor.

"Quite unbearable?" he asked as he brought his lips back up to meet hers again, his hands resting beneath her ribs so he could almost span her waist.

"Yes." She whispered back, undoing the buttons down the front of his shirt and tugging the belt away from his trousers with a hasty practiced ease.

He kissed her harder, deeper and his fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her towards him and she felt their skin meet.

"You do know there is no woman here or anywhere who is more beautiful than you," Richard said into her ear as he stepped out of his trousers.

"You don't need to resort to flattery to have your way with me, Richard." She smiled, kissing the hard angle of his cheekbone. "We have two children after all."

"Would you like another?" he teased.

She kissed him and let her hand clasp the back of his head so she could feel the perspiration on the nape of his neck. Her elbow knocked into the heated towel rail so she winched. Richard took hold of her hips and guided her across the large room so they were wedged between a sink and a cupboard. It was almost unbearably humid and she felt light headed as he took hold of the back of her thighs and pulled her up so her legs were wrapped around him, her back digging into the wall. She could feel nothing but the kiss that seemed to dive into her very soul as she strove to bring him nearer, deeper, until a gasp of pleasure escaped her lips and she heard him moan her name in her ear. Mary's nails dug into his shoulder blades and she let her neck arch back so he could kiss the exposed vulnerable skin there. Oh, she loved him, all of him, all of the light, all of the dark, and especially this.

The air was thick and still, suffocating. In the bed the child threw off the sheet and opened his eyes to look at the undulating shadows on the ceiling. The room was bathed in a silvery darkness and all the familiar objects comforted and closed in around him as he swung his legs over the side and tiptoed to the window. He had pulled the blackout blind up when he went to bed so that he could see the light die away as he drifted to sleep, reluctantly parting with the world and keeping it in his eye line simultaneously. The boy's chest swelled happily as he eased the blind up a little further and looked down into the garden, light pollution casting it in a slightly surreal haze, the happy jumble of shrubbery freely entwined around discarded toys. The garden was his place, the children's place, its very nature seemed stubbornly immune to landscaping and the only construction was the half finished tree house nestling in a tree near the bottom. He reached up and tugged at the back of his pajama shirt, which was sticky with moisture, it would surely be another hot day tomorrow. They could turn on the sprinklers again, reduce the lawn to a mire of mud and sludge, it was a cheerful thought.

The child sighed and rubbed his sticky forehead, his blond hair darkened with perspiration. He let out a contented little sigh but as he did so a breath caught in his throat and he narrowed his eyes towards the wall at the very bottom of the garden. The blackness that lay there seemed to build and intensify until he could hardly make out anything at all. The light on the swimming pool sparkled in the corner of his eye but he did not look away as he made out what was distinctly a figure. A person. Someone was in the garden, near the wall but advancing forwards. He clapped his hand over his mouth and felt a hot prickle spread across his forehead and down his cheeks, rising in goose pimples all over his arms. The figure multiplied and a larger scene expanded out from the edges of the garden; almost like the Magic Eye pictures he was wont to make himself cross eyed trying to do. There were more people, men, wearing black and holding something – guns. This time he almost screamed.

He jerked away from the window, turning around and sinking quickly to the floor, his back against the lattice framework of the radiator cover. For several seconds he was paralyzed, his hands resting on his knees, numb and stiff so they did not feel like his own. Finally he bent his head and crawled from the room, slowly, ever so slowly, the house seeming to shiver around him. On the landing he continued to crawl and nudged open the door of his sister's room with his head. She was asleep, in her customary style, on her front with her arm hanging over the edge. When he went to speak he found his mouth was so dry the sound was a croak. The pulse beat in his neck, flickering and trembling beneath the delicate surface of his skin. He felt sick and strangely exhilarated.

"Imogen," he hissed. "Immy, wake up, wake up."

She did not wake so he tried again, reaching up from where he knelt on the floor and giving her back a little shake. This time she moaned and pursed her rosy lips in a perfect bow, swatting a tangle of hair from her face and screwing up her eyes without opening them.

"Immy!"

She moaned and finally opened her eyes to look into the white face of her brother beside her. She did not start and struggled up almost cheerfully, allowing him in one quick movement to take her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and wound her arms around his neck like a monkey as he held onto her.

"We'll go to Mummy and Daddy's room."

She nodded as if she were routinely woken in the middle of the night and carried from her bed.

They were halfway back across the landing when it felt like an explosion had occurred. Lights, shouts and a great drumming of black feet on the black stairs. A wave of darkness surged towards the children and then it was upon them. They were engulfed and grabbed by firm hands, torn from each other and carried away. The boy screamed, he screamed and screamed. It was a piercing sound and the female officer held onto him tightly, with his back against her waist as he fought like a wild animal, his arms outstretched towards his sister whose mouth hung open, her eyes wide.

"Felix," she whispered, too terrified to cry.

It was Felix's scream that threw Mary into a white blast of exploding stars and she didn't take a breath as a black masked face looked down on her and she was wrenched from the bed. The room filled with people; shouting, demanding, guns held aloft. It was a nightmare; it had to be a nightmare. Her husband was being held down on the bed clad only in boxer shorts, his arms twisted behind his back, his shoulders disabled by what seemed like dozens of pushing hands. She was born quickly from the room, looking back briefly as Richard was jerked upwards and pushed face first into the wall, his neck twisted to one side as around the room drawers were pulled out and cupboards torn open. She could not speak or shout or scream, her ribcage so constricted that the force of it made it seem as if her heart were being drawn out through her mouth. She fell with relief into the arms of her children, who were seated side by side on Imogen's little white bed, their faces ashen. The woman officer looked down on them and remained stiffly standing guard as Mary pressed their faces into her chest and they clawed and clung to her until she held them both with difficulty in her lap.

Richard fought. He pulled and tugged and found himself possessed with a rage, a feral desire to escape that seemed to fill his head with fire. Every muscle surged alive, every nerve sparked as he put his considerable force into breaking from these people who seemed determined to dislocate his arms. He did not register who they were, he did not hear what they were shouting in his ears or the papers and identification cards a suited woman flashed in his face. He was in the school playground again and his back was against a brick wall that smelt of urine, he was spitting into the face of his tormentor and thrusting his knee between his legs. He was in the boxing ring; sweat running down the crease between his shoulder blades, the metallic bite of blood between his teeth.

"Mary!" He yelled and he clenched his teeth in the face of the officer who was pushing the gun into his back, forcing his face so hard into the wall that it stung.

"Shut up!"

"Where is my wife?" Richard shouted, still now, all the tension focused in the twisting set of his mouth. "Where are my children?"

He felt the handcuffs close around his wrists as he was propelled from the room and onto the landing, inscrutable expressions watching him from underneath helmets. I am being arrested by the police. This thought crystalized for a moment in his mind before being flung aside once more as a small whirlwind flew into him and clung there.

"Daddy!"

Imogen's tear streaked face looked up at him, her long fringe falling across her flushed cheeks.

"Imogen!"

Mary ran forwards but the little girl was seized by a police officer first and thrust into her mother's arms. Felix clung to the edge of Mary's nightdress and his eyes locked to Richard's for a moment; confused, frightened, surely scarred for life by such an impossible trauma.

"Richard, what is happening?" Mary asked, her voice shaking and he found he could not sustain her gaze.

"Take them away!" the man holding Richard barked.

"No, Daddy!" Imogen screamed and Mary could not hold her tightly enough as the little girl grabbed her brother's hand and twisted away.

Both children broke free and with speed and agility darted forwards to hold onto Richard, kicking and struggling as two officers descended on them as they grappled dangerously at the top of the stairs. Mary screamed but the woman pinned her arms behind her back so she too was forced to struggle. This time Richard lost control as Felix was seized around the waist and lifted into the air. Richard reared back and knocked the man holding him off balance so that the officer lost his footing and slipped on the tread at the top of the stairs, rolling and crashing against the banister as a cry went up. Richard quickly found the weight of several men on top of his back and a gun pressed to his temple. Mary screamed again and the noise rang in his ears. Felix's landing had been cushioned by his captor and he scrambled back up the stairs where two ununiformed men closed in, taking an arm each and dragging him back to the top as Richard was forced down the wide stair case in the opposite direction, his head pushed down so he could not meet his son's eyes.

This was a nightmare; it had to be.

Cora was beside herself, so much so that Robert had virtually put the Valium tablet in her mouth himself before shutting the door and returning to answer a telephone that would not stop ringing. He had switched off the twenty-four hour news channel but someone else had switched it back on and it displayed a wobbly helicopter view of his daughter's house and garden. He pulled the plug from the wall. When he had been woken by the phone call his heart had skipped a beat and fear had plunged into his stomach, clenching and grasping inside until he heard Mary tell him that she and the children were fine. Thank God. The rest, of course, had caused a quite different emotion, an overpowering rage that still seemed to be beating in the form of an ache around his temples. He had ordered a car and they were on their way, she couldn't drive, not in that state and besides the police had taken the cars – why? Robert could barely contemplate quite what was going on and he refused to spend more than a moment listening to the minimal information being repeated by a supercilious news anchor.

He looked at his watch; an hour, maybe two and they would be here.

"Robert?"

He turned to see his mother standing in the doorway.

"Robert, I would like to know exactly what is going on. I fear I may have suffered a small cerebral event – I switch on the television and what do I see?" Her eyes widened. "Richard! Well, I think; I am used to seeing that man on the television, but not solely in a pair of underpants, being led away by the police. The shock, I felt quite faint!"

"Cora is lying down."

"I'm sure she is." Violet said, lowering herself cautiously into a chair as if an image of Richard half naked and in handcuffs might appear on the blank television screen at any moment.

"I know as much as you, as much as Sky News!" Robert shook his head, clenching and unclenching his hands behind his back.

"I have unplugged the telephone at the Dower House. I daren't even go back there, the village will no doubt be swarming with reporters, with those ghastly vans with satellites on the top!"

"Let's hope not, Mama."

Violet emitted a short laugh before pursing her lips. "For goodness sake, Robert, ring for some tea."

Robert did as he was bidden before turning to the table by the window where the collection of photographs of his daughters and grandchildren were displayed. He sighed and touched the silver framed studio portrait of Felix and Imogen; he could hardly contemplate what they had been through the previous night. He imagined Felix, eight years old, with his fiercely protective nature, his gentle bond with the little sister. What had he thought as the house filled with police, had they woken him in his bed? Mary had intimated that the children had seen everything and he shuddered at the thought, at the image of them in their pajamas surrounded by armed police. They looked happily out from the photograph in his hand. Imogen with her silky blond bob, a red bow clipping her fringe from her eyes, her dimpled cheeks and trusting smile. Robert put the picture back down roughly.

"Those poor children," Violet sighed.

"Please." Robert frowned.

Please, what? Please, do not let their lives fall apart.