David was returning from the loo when the kids ran up. They pulled him toward Vicki, shouting excitedly despite the fact he had only been gone for ten minutes. When he spotted Vicki, he stopped walking. He knew it was Eleanor she was talking to; he had seen her off to the side as the Earl of Wessex delivered his speech. He had watched as she mingled in the crowd and had purposely steered their group toward her cousin's queue hoping to avoid her.
As she turned, he felt hot, sweaty, his heart pounding. She was taller than he remembered, possibly due to her heels and ridiculous feathered hat. She was in a pretty dress and a face full of makeup and she didn't look at all like the woman he remembered. He just stood there, staring, until Vicki spoke.
"The Princess was just saying that you served together, Dave." David was knocked out of his stupor. The kids ran off toward the guy making twisty balloons.
"We...we did." He stammered. He rubbed his hands together, nervous, and noticed that Eleanor had her hand clasped so tightly in front of her that her knuckles were white. She was just looking at him from under her hat, her eyes wide, lips in a firm line. Then, like a switch had been flipped, she straightened up, unclenched her hands and extended one to Vicki. He recognized her demeanor, her professional mask. She had it on ops, in the cockpit and on the airfield, and now here, at a fucking garden party
"I best be off." She said, voice sharp and clipped. "It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Budd." She turned toward him, but didn't reach out. "Your family is beautiful, Sergeant." Her eyes had been on him, but immediately slid away as she spoke, her voice shaking at the end.
He almost cracked when she called him that. It brought him right back to the desert and he almost reached for her. He wanted to grab her, drag her behind the bouncy castle and ask why she never rang him, ask how she could forget him. He wanted to yell that he told her so. That he had been right about her.
There were hundreds of people around; his family and hers, so instead he just nodded, jaw clenched, posture tight. She nodded as well, the feathers in her wide hat bobbing, and then she was gone. Vicki started talking as Eleanor made her way back to the palace, walking up to a giant of a man who led her away with his hand at her back. The kids returned with balloons and big smiles and David pretended to be fine once again.
David was surprised later that night by a knock at the door. Opening it a crack, the giant of a protection officer was there, Eleanor barely visible off to the side. She stepped forward, dressed in jeans, loose jumper, trainers. Her hair was in a messy pony and she looked more like herself.
"I'm sorry to come unannounced, but I needed to talk with you." She said, that same clipped accent, all business as if he was a stranger. "I'd like to speak privately with you, so if you wouldn't mind?" She stepped back and he realized dimly that she wanted him to come with her. He looked down the alley where a blacked out Range Rover was parked.
"I'm alone." He replied, moving away from her, further into the entryway. Eleanor looked at him, confused.
"Where's your family?" She asked. It was late and there was school tomorrow. She didn't know much about children, but she reasoned that they should be sleeping.
"I split time with the kids with Vicki." David replied.
"But they…at the party-" Eleanor pressed.
"I was invited with my family." David interrupted, impatient. "We're divorced, but they're still my family." Anger was his default, but he was more than angry. He was mad she was here, asking him questions, demanding he go with her. She knew his address but couldn't fucking ring him for over a year? He crossed his arms over his chest and she frowned. They were at a standoff.
Finally, the protection officer sighed, tired of standing outside. David moved another step back, allowing them into his flat. He would listen to her and then she could go back to her life, back to her palace, her magazine covers and smart clothes. He would hear her out and then lock the door behind her, have a beer or two or three and try to forget her again.
Eleanor stood in the entry, looking at him, her beautiful eyes wide, face sad. David swallowed hard, his throat burning, dragging his eyes away from her. He went to get a beer out of the refrigerator and heard the front door open and close as the officer left. Eleanor had drifted toward the living area. She sat on the sofa, fidgeting, wringing her hands, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, messing with the sleeve of her jumper that covered her wrist.
"Just say what you came to say." David said, picking at the label on his beer.
"They...they told me you died." She said quietly. He frowned, eyes narrowing. That wasn't what he thought she was going to say.
"You believed them?" It was the first thing he thought of, said it before he even realized and harsher than he had wanted. She visibly flinched, hurt at his words.
David stood, not understanding. That definitely explained why she hadn't contacted him, but who had orchestrated it and why? Her family, to keep them apart? And why had she believed them? He ran a hand through his hair, unable to speak.
"They had a full report. Pictures of...your body." She looked down at her hands clenched in her lap, but then looked over at him where he was at the big window, eyes rimmed in red at the memory. "I saw the photos. I have the photos. Your tattoo, your face!" She stood too, agitated, pacing in the small space between the sofa and the television. "When I woke up, I asked about you, but the doctor didn't know. Then, Harry said you were severely injured and that you...you died." She said, voice small. "That's when I made them show me the photos."
He blew out a breath. He didn't want to relive the failed op. He had pushed it away, focused on his new job, trying to get his life back, to forget about her and his entire army career.
"I was injured." He finally replied, walking back to the kitchen for another beer. He took his time, dithering getting the bottle out, opening the bottle, tossing the cap in the sink. He came back to sit, and she did as well, but at the other end. This was all so much. Too much.
He frowned, took a drink, rubbed at the back of his neck. He didn't want to talk about it, remember it, but here with her, he couldn't help it. She brought him right back to it, the good memories and the bad.
"I called you." He said, holding the beer bottle between his legs. She had been looking down at an invisible speck of something on her trouser leg, but at his admission, her head snapped up, eyes wide.
"When?" It wasn't an accusation, her voice was soft. He told her the exact dates. He had rung her twice, left two voicemails, and he remembered exactly. It was when he had returned home from hospital in Germany and they had sent him to a physio rehab facility in Scotland, close to his mum.
"That's...they said you were buried in Scotland." She said. He was watching her, all the emotions passing over her face. "When you called, that's when...when they sent me away. You're not the only one that was angry and fucked up." She said, eyes pleading, watching as he stalked back and forth in front of the couch.
David stopped. He was so mad at her, at himself, at everyone and everything. Mad even that he was so angry with her for so long. That he had given up on her; on them.
"I'm...I'm not the person I was, El." He finally admitted. He continued speaking, her wide eyes searching his. "I am fucked up and...damaged. We...we can't...we shouldn't be together." His heart was breaking all over again, but he had to say it. He had to warn her. He couldn't be with her, it would just end in disappointment and sadness.
She stood, approaching him, and he knew he was in for it. He recognized the look on her face immediately. Stubborn, willful, determined.
"You're wrong." She started, crossing her arms. "Your eyes that remind me of the sea? They're the same. You're heart? The same. You've still the same man I fell in love with."
David's head snapped up at her admission and he just stared at her, his breath hitching, his heart racing. He shook his head. She was the one who was wrong. "You won't love me when you see...when you see how I am now." His voice was thick with emotion, his accent pronounced.
"I will." Eleanor insisted. "I do." She stepped toward him, but didn't touch him. "I've seen the damage the war did to you. It did the same to me." She pushed up her jumper sleeve and turned her arm toward him, an angry red scar running from her forearm to halfway up her bicep. She let her sleeve fall, and stepped closer. "Parts of me are different now, but deep down, I'm the same and so are you. I won't accept that you're not the same brave, kind man I knew. You can't say you're giving up on us." She was crying, but trying not to, lecturing him despite herself.
"Els-" He tried, reaching out for her, but she was determined and went on, talking over him.
"You can't say we shouldn't try. Why would we see each other again after all this time if there wasn't something more for us? I wasn't supposed to be at that goddamn party! I won't accept it!" She ranted, eyes blazing, chest heaving, wiping her tears away. "I won't! And I won't let you either!"
"You have to, Eleanor!" He shouted back, finally having enough. She was wrong; there wasn't any hope and the sooner she realized, the easier it would be to move on. "You have to let me go!" She flinched at his shout; the use of her full name, but then she did the exact opposite of what he thought. She stepped forward instead of back. Closer to him. She was in his space, so close, quietly standing in front of him.
"Tell me that you still don't think about me. About us." She whispered it. "Tell me and I'll go. You'll never see me again." She reached for him, her hand going to the crook of his neck. "Tell me." She repeated, overwhelming him, her face inches away. She said it again, her lips ghosting his and he gave in. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't lie, not to her, and he knew she was right. There was still a connection, an energy.
So, he pulled her close, his lips going to hers. He swore she sighed, her hands going to his waist. She was pressed against him, warm and soft and familiar, a sense of calm flowing through him when they kissed, like there was nothing in the world but them. She was the missing piece that he was agitated and anxious without this whole time. Now, kissing her, holding her, it was all gone. The pain and sadness and anger was eclipsed by the feel of her. He could only remember the peaceful times, the laughter and dirty jokes, whiskey and pickle juice rather than hospitals and fire, burns and guns.
He had been angry that she had come here and he thought his cruelty would push her away, but he had forgotten how willful she was. How insightful and how she was determined to get her way. So, he gave in and let her win. Maybe she wouldn't be the only one who won. Maybe she could be his link back. Back to himself, back to humanity, back to happiness. If she had so much hope, maybe she had enough for both of them. All he knew was that he finally felt calm, peaceful and whole, rather than anxious and broken, and he was willing to try. With her.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and bookmarking! i hope you enjoyed the story :)