Hi guys! First thing is I want to thank all of you who have reviewed! It really motivates me to keep going! Second, this chapter is a little different, I really wanted to try and explore Guinevere's POV for most of this chapter. Let me know what you think!
The next morning.
Guinevere woke slowly, tiredly, to the sound of distant sirens. It was 4:30 am, far too early to be awake, but currently her situation called for cloudy with a lack of sleep until further notice.
She struggled to sit up, the blood from her wound the day before had dried to the pillow, causing pain when she moved. Sucking in a breath she slowly peeled her skin from the pillow and sat up. Great, she thought, more stitches—another scar. The sirens faded out and for a moment she thought she heard a melody in its echoes. But that could just be her delirium from blood loss. Which was very likely.
After a moment of silence to herself she crawled out of bed and into the bathroom for a quick shower. France this time of year was very brisk, so Guinevere welcomed the warm streams that flowed from the ceiling mounted shower head. She fully examined the damages in scrapes and bruises on her skin and was pleasantly surprised.
Guinevere had never been so close to a bomb detonation so she really didn't have a clue what to expect as far as injuries went. Bruises: twenty-five, scrapes: twelve including the gash on her temple. Not too bad. She watched the brown dye from her hair fall down her body and into the drain until the water ran clear. So much for a disguise.
When she was finished showering she dried herself off and began to dress herself, careful to miss the most sensitive bruises. She dressed in simple gray wool trousers, white Dolce & Gabbana dress shirt, and a black blazer. She re-dressed the cut on her arm that Harry had patched up for her the day before. The cut was sealed but still needed a new bandage, and it should heal nicely over the next couple days.
Guinevere sighed, sitting fully dressed in the bathroom, staring at the scrapes on her hands and arms. She couldn't get the image of that man out of her head. The suicide bomber. Who he was and what Rene Teshigahara did to make that man do what he did. She could only imagine how angry Rene must have been when he found out his plan was not successful. Imagining it brought a smirk and a small chuckle, if however superficial. She suspected the next several days to find simple pleasures in the small stuff. What she and Harry were dealing with was no walk in the park, to say the least.
Guinevere quietly stepped out of the bathroom and situated herself at the desk by the window. From her brief case she took out a notebook and a tablet and began her research. She had never used a touch screen tablet before, as it was a gift from the Kingsman, but she found it quite convoluted in its capabilities. She preferred simple things that did what they were designed for, not one things attempting to do everything. Nevertheless she used it to explore latest news reports from yesterday and any information concerning the Louvre. She did spot a private event happening that evening, it would be the perfect time to meet up with her contact, Jenny, and let her know what was going on. And in turn, any information Jenny had on Rene.
After Guinevere secured two tickets for her and Harry she glanced over in the direction of his bed and saw his back, quietly resting quietly under the sheets. She felt like she did not know this man very well, at least not well enough to share a hotel room with him, even if it was a 700 square foot one. But at the same time she knew almost everything there was to know about him—on paper at least.
She knew where he went to university, what he studied, where he lived, what type of car he owned, etcetera. To her, on paper Harry was without a doubt the most boring Englishman she'd ever met. But when she had dug a little deeper she discovered his involvement with the Kingsman. When she discovered this, things became different. Of course when he surprised her in Berlin he had fought with mastery and skill, he nearly beat her. Guinevere would never tell him that, it would go way too far to his head. She knew there had to be something deeper about this man.
To her, she knew almost everything about Harry Hart. But what she didn't know was him. Who he really was. Over the past several days the Kingsman agent had made quite the impression on her. She was actually growing very fond of him, much to her surprise.
And right this moment, watching him sleep from across the room Guinevere felt something inside her that was akin to...attraction.
She sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing them. "Hope that feeling goes away." She said quietly to herself.
The sun was just rising and she checked her clock. Six am. She jumped up quickly and practically ran out of the room to the cafe down the road.
Guinevere stood in line at the cafe, pondering what she should get. Espresso was always a safe way to go for her. Then she thought about Harry; butter croissant and…what type of tea could possibly be his favorite? She asked herself.
She approached the bar for her order and sighed.
"Doppio espresso, un croissant de beurre chaud, deux, et un thé Earl Gray, s'il vous plaît?" The barista nodded and got onto her order.
Guinevere struggled with sliding the keycard through the scanner on their door, juggling the drinks and pastries. She eventually grabbed the top of the card with her teeth and inserted it into the reader that way and opened the door with her elbow. When she walked in Harry was still asleep so she quietly sat herself at the table across the room and began to read through the local paper sipping her espresso. Suddenly a droplet of blood fell onto the paper from her temple.
"Merde." She muttered and ran to the bathroom to fix her stitching. When she returned she spotted Harry walking into the second bathroom. She went back to reading the paper. Several minutes passed before Harry walked out of the bathroom. When he did Guinevere glanced at him for second, then glanced again. He was wearing a new suit and his Cutler and Gross glasses. His hair in perfect place. She must've looked like she was gawking so she quickly averted her eyes back to the paper.
"I have a surprise for you." She said.
"Is that so? What might that be, pray tell?" Harry sat at the table across from her and she slid the tea and butter croissant to him. Guinevere watched as he looked at it for a moment and looked back up to her, "I need to take you on all my missions." He bit into his butter croissant and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Guinevere chuckled. He went for the tea and paused, "Earl Gray?"
Guinevere glanced up worriedly, "Are you not a fan?"
"No, in fact, Earl Gray is my favorite. I prefer it over an English Breakfast blend any day. How did you know?" She smirked.
"I know everything, Harry." And she focused back on the paper.
That evening Guinevere and Harry walked into the Louvre. Harry wore his favorite pen stripe suit along with his umbrella at his side and Guinevere wore a medium length, elegant black Chanel dress. One of her most favorite dresses.
When they walked through the lobby Guinevere began to watch several people, anyone that seemed like they might be hiding something. Harry left for a moment for the bar and returned with two drinks.
Brandy for him, old-fashioned for her.
"How did you know my favorite drink was an old-fashioned?" Guinevere smirked.
"Oh darling, because I know everything." He smirked right back at her and began to mingle. Guinevere watched him as he walked away, imagining what it would be like to punch him again. But she digressed, and took a sip of the whiskey.
After a while of mindless mingling Guinevere found Jenny. When they approached each other they simply nodded in greeting.
"Did you receive my message?"
Jenny nodded, taking a sip of her champagne. "I put all the footage from the last week on this drive, like you asked."
Guinevere took it and slipped it into her pocket. "You're a saint, darling. Harry and I are going to do whatever we can to keep that lunatic from blowing this place up."
"Good, I can't thank you enough for this you know." Guinevere nodded and took another sip of her drink. Jenny held her glass out and clinked it with hers, "Here's to you, Princess."
Guinevere rolled her eyes but smiled gently either way.
"Now go, too much longer and it'll be suspicious, we don't know who's here." Jenny nodded anxiously and nervously stuttered away.
Guinevere stood off the side, by the bathrooms and watched the people around her. Some were French socialites, a few celebrities, other patrons of the museum—your typical private event crowd of the Musée du Louvre. She sighed, hoping quietly to herself that whatever was on this hard drive was the key to figuring out Teshigahara's plan.
Suddenly Guinevere spotted Harry, chatting happily with someone. Guinevere could not see who it was because someone was blocking them. She watched Harry smile and suddenly felt a tad weak in the knees. But then scolded herself, sex was not a priority at the moment.
Guinevere took her last sip as the person in question was revealed. It was Jenny. Guinevere narrowed her eyes and watched her as she interacted with Harry. Jenny held her glass in her hand lazily as she chatted with Harry. Guinevere rolled her eyes and looked around more.
But then out of the corner of her eye she saw Jenny rest her hand on Harry's arm.
Guinevere quickly averted her attention back just in time to see Jenny whisper something into Harry's ear and laugh heartily. Harry in turn also laughed.
And then without even realizing it, the glass that once held her drink was crushed into shards in her hand.
"Fuck." She muttered and walked as quickly as she could to the bathroom without drawing attention to herself.
She threw the shards into the trash and began to run her hand under cold water.
"Goddamnit." She cursed at herself. How could she be so stupid, how could she have shown such a lack of control?
Guinevere watched the blood fall from her hand, the red mixing with the water down the drain just like her hair dye earlier this morning. Guinevere watched the blood and remembered the bomb and Rene and suddenly her emotions took the better of her and she let of a soft sob. She fell to her knees slowly, her arm still in the sink.
People where dying because of her. That poor man with the bomb, and whoever its reach had caught. Innocent agents in Europe and America had died because of her.
She tried to control her breathing and paused, what if she just went to Rene, what if she turned herself in? She would rather die than cause the death of another innocent person. Especially Harry, she had gotten him roped into this. Guinevere would never be able to forgive herself if Harry died because of her.
She thought of Rene, she thought of his face and how fantastic it would be to put a bullet in it.
Guinevere squeezed her injured hand and tried to imagine that pain all over her body. That's what giving herself over to Rene would be like, she told herself over and over. It would be utter hell, because she knew that he would not kill her at first, he did not want her dead. It would be pain upon every inch on her body.
No. She would not give up.
She squeezed again and let out a small grunt in pain. She stood up, her legs rickety and jello-like. She leaned against the sink and wiped her hand with a paper towel. After it was relatively clean she wrapped a clean paper towel over it as a make-shift bandage and held it in place.
Guinevere looked at herself in the mirror one last time and nodded, as though she was nodding in encouragement to herself. Then she walked out of the bathroom.
Harry felt like he had checked every single corner of the space looking for Guinevere. Her curator friend would not leave him alone and Harry was beginning to develop the sinking feeling of trouble, doubled with annoyance.
Suddenly he spotted her stepping out of the bathroom and made a bee-line toward her.
"Did you gather what you needed?" He asked.
"Yes." She nodded, and hid her right hand behind her back. Harry glanced at it but made no fuss.
"Fantastic, lets get a move on then shall we?"
Guinevere nodded and followed him out the door. Harry noticed she was uncharacteristically quiet as they left the Louvre. And as they walked outside it began to rain gently. Guinevere looked up to the cloudy sky as Harry opened his umbrella gesturing for her to step beneath it. Guinevere all but rolled her eyes and stepped beneath it.
"Did something happen in there that you aren't telling me?" Guinevere shook her head and scratched her cheek with her right hand and Harry spotted the paper towel on her hand. "What happened to your palm?"
"Nothing." She said coldly, looking out into the street very quickly becoming iridescent with the rain. Harry watched as her expression hardened and couldn't help but relate to it. Everything was silent and all they could hear was the rain pelting the sidewalk. They stood still, watching the rain. "We have a long night ahead of us, Galahad."
Harry nodded, and a slight confusion crossed him. She had referred to him by his code name. Why had she done that? He was overwhelmed at the moment with his thoughts. Something wasn't right. Though he could be sensible and equate it to their predicament, but he couldn't be so sure.
"Then let us get started, shall we?" Harry held out his elbow and Guinevere paused for several moments before slipping her hand around it. Suddenly Guinevere sucked in a breath and sighed. She gripped his elbow tightly, protectively, and took the first step down the sidewalk to their hotel.