Conversations on Flight – Chapter XIII
EXCLUSIVE: A ROYAL KISS! Queen and PM Caught In Steamy Embrace In Bombshell Photos Taken From Within The Palace Walls.
3/11: Not the usual protocol – William Melbourne (45) holds Queen Victoria (19) tight around her waist as they share an intimate moment.
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"I quit."
Will's surly Scottish friend attached himself to his side as soon as he stepped out of his office door.
"You're not quitting." Will responded back gruffly, carrying them both swiftly down the hallway as he arranged the mess of files in his hands, trying to focus himself on the matter on hand, trying not to drown.
"Go fuck yourself with a fucking barbwire dildo, of course I'm quitting." His Director of Communications shot back tersely as he kept his voice at a rare discreet level, conscious of the dash of staffers passing them in the hall. "I'm a fucking family man now: I've already got a kid who fucking shits his pants at home, I don't fucking need one at work too."
"Nothing happened." Will pressed on.
"Oh, wow!" Malcolm gave an exaggerated rise of his brow as his voice broke in frustration. "Really? Great! Fantastic! I'll just give Rupert Murdoch a bell then, shall I? Tell him all about it! He's a considerate man, I'm sure he'll denounce any speculation – great fucking friend of the Labour Party and champion of fucking journalistic integrity that he is!"
"While I'd love to stay here and continue watching your one-man-show Malc, I've got a meeting to attend." Will felt the weariness settle deep in his bones as he continued his pace down the hall.
"Yeah - a meeting with me – where I fucking chop your hands off and fucking graft them over your eyeballs cause it seems simple fucking common sense is beyond your fucking reach now." Malcolm growled, failing in his attempt at inconspicuousness as the nearby staffers threw frightened looks at the infamous spin-doctor. No one was immune to his wrath it seemed, not even his boss - but Will couldn't deal with it right now.
"Are you finished?" Will stopped in his place and look at him with a tired frown.
"Not even close."
"Fine." Will sighed, when he spied Emma turning the corner of the hallway. Their eyes caught. Will felt the water rising up. He quickly looked back at Malcolm. "I'll take a rain-cheque then. Excuse me."
Before his friend could jump in with another elaborate curse, Will charged through the oak door of the cabinet room and slammed it shut.
"Prime Minister." He was met with the sound of heavy wooden chairs slipping backwards and creaking as their occupants stood.
"Good morning." Will took in a breath and attempted a smile, trapped at the door as he looked over the faces of the room, stilling in attention.
They knew.
They all knew.
It wasn't as if this were an entirely alien situation to him. The Great British Tabloid Press had catalogued practically every female relationship of his since the age of 25. When Caro ran off, the world knew far more about her and Gus' European adventures than what was in the feeble drops of updates his estranged wife deigned sufficient enough to dispense to him.
And then when….
No.
Not now.
But he had lived this torture.
Lived under those looks.
Lived under the knowledge that whenever he entered a room, people had just been talking about him. And when he left, they would talk about him again.
Lived under the certainty that more people have talked about him, than with him.
Lived under the weight of their unfounded presumptions.
He knew.
He had trained himself to run it off his back, unaffected, unflustered.
But now. Now he felt exposed.
Utterly exposed under the firing line of their eyes. What he had with Victoria, for the first time, was something profoundly private. Precious. A faint glimmer of a flame deep inside his rotted heart, which warmed his soul in the most joyfully unexpected way, but had to be safely cocooned away from the outside world, lest any small breeze stamp it out. But now his hands had been ripped away and the feeble flame thrust out to the open, for all the world to gawk at.
He should have known better. Should have known that for him, all warmth would be stolen, all he loved would be snatched away.
It was only a matter of time.
"So." He pushed himself away from his spiralling thoughts and stepped up to one of the chairs. "36 hours left then."
"Coming up to that now, yes Sir." The wide-shouldered Marshal Arncliffe responded with tight affirmation, as Will sat himself down and the grim party followed suit, a front line of Defence and Foreign Secretaries, the Marshal, General, and a silent MI6 agent facing him on the opposite side of the long table.
"Can't expect us to wait for the President forever, Will." His perennially gruff Defence Secretary Adam folded his arms in impatience.
"I know."
"Neither can we barge in like some obnoxious hooligan, Adam." The Secretary of Foreign Affairs countered smoothly with a cold look to him beside her.
"Our men are not hooligans, ma'am." General Williams stepped in sharply at the other end of the table. "And we only ever barge when ordered."
"Forgive me, sir – " Annette reacted swiftly to the disgruntled General. "I know this well - My comments were only intended as a jab at my friend Adam here."
"I think we're far past the time for jabs, Mrs Goldsmith." The Field Marshal stepped in with commanding self-possession. "We've had more than enough distractions this morning."
His name floated above the table.
Quiet eyes pricked him with imperceptible glances.
"President Clinton, in all her magnanimity, has informed me of two possibilities." Will grasped for the reigns to steer the conversation away. "One: They evacuate, along with our lads, starting fifteen minutes before the deadline. Two: They stay, they wait, and if the Qataris attack, they engage. Along with our lads. Now, I don't know about you all, but I'm not terribly keen on the idea of shackling any of our men to the whim of a foreign leader. But I also do not want to put them in any unnecessary danger – so I would at least like to be fully aware of the playing field before I make any serious decision. That, is why I wait."
"That playing field is slowly getting stacked against us." An unexpected voice joined in, as all eyes turned to the small MI6 agent at the far end of the table. "We now have reason to believe that Iranian forces have entered Qatar, along with additional artillery, under the guise of being Qatari mercenaries."
"So much for the innocent victim..." The Secretary of Defence huffed under his breath.
"Adam?" Will threw an unamused look at him.
"I'm sorry Will, but who do they think they're kidding?" Adam threw up his hands. "These aren't the actions of a benign state who was hard done by some mysterious terrorist group (who, by the way, we still haven't heard from), and who ('scout's honour') really truly only wants to help the UN Investigation - and is not withholding anything from them, not lying to them in any way, not pumping out paid propaganda, not stalling over crucial documents, and most definitely not amassing foreign troops behind their backs." The Defence Secretary's voice continued to rise with Will's increasing frustration. "These: these are the actions – "
"Adam – " Will broke in warily, trying to stop the Secretary in his now familiar polemic.
"- of a guilty party – "
"Adam – "
"- who has already (already!) made unprovoked attacks on our nation – "
"- this is not what we're discussing – "
"- which under all sensible eyes is an attack tantamount to a declaration of war!"
"Adam!" Will let out a long supressed bark with a hit of his fist on the table. The room instantly snapped to silence, so completely unacquainted with the sight and sound of an angry outburst from him. But he couldn't care less. The fire lowered to a burning ember as he held Adam in his gaze, and let out a measured breath. "That is not on the table today, and you know it. I will not risk the lives of our service men and women until absolutely all other avenues have been attempted. Is that quite clear?"
The cabinet room remained frozen.
"Is that quite clear?" Will repeated, glaring down his Secretary.
"Yes." Adam broke quietly, though his eyes still flickered with dissent.
The room let out a breath, when there was a quiet click of the door behind him.
"Good." Will slowly tried to gather himself back up into the light calm he was known for. "General Williams, if we were to evacuate our men before the deadline, what would it take?"
"Fifteen SAS, three WG 37 helicopters, launching from HMAS Resolve, currently stationed in the Strait of Hormuz." The General sat in attention and fired out specifics of the plan, when Will felt a familiar presence beside him, and then a hand came in to his view, as Emma snuck him a small folded sliver of paper.
A day would come when he could escape his all-knowing friend – but it wasn't close.
Will flicked the note into his hands, avoiding a look up at Emma, and opened up paper.
Philippa is waiting in your office.
Will groaned inwardly. He knew this was coming, but it didn't make him any keener on facing it. He scrunched up the paper in his fist.
"What are the chances of the extraction being discovered?" Will returned his attention to the matter at hand.
"By Qatar? High." The Marshal answered bluntly. "And there is no way to do this without US knowledge."
"I shall deal with the President." Will responded with a small sigh. "How long do you need to get ready?"
"At least eight hours sir. Optimal window for commencement is in eleven hours." Williams replied professionally.
The heavy weight sank down on Will's body as he sat facing his line of guards, trapping him, yet waiting upon him. He knew the faces of the men that were stuck there. He knew their voices, heard of their families. He knew they had signed up for this, that they were prepared – but it still didn't make it any easier. It still was on him.
Will took in a breath.
"Ok then. Go ahead with the operation. Get our lads out."
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"I want them lined up! I want all the staff, right away, lined up in the lobby!" Lehzen stamped across the floor of the royal parlour room, her barely tempered anger glowing her pale cheeks red.
"I really don't think that's a good idea, Louise." Harriet warned from her spot in the middle of the room.
"They are our staff!" Lehzen froze in righteous indignation. "They should do what we say!"
"They are, and they will." The elegant Royal Communications Director smoothed. "But if these pictures have shown us anything, it's that there is a leak within this household – and I seriously doubt they will stay quiet if we commence some hysterical witch hunt amongst them."
"So we are expected to be made hostage? By some…some…rat in our ranks?" Lehzen's German accent increased in her frustration. "This would have never happened in Hanover House!"
"Your Majesty – " Harriet just ignored the fuming Secretary and stepped towards Victoria, sitting silently on the lounge, watching, her face blank. "You must tell us: Who was in the garden with you yesterday? Were their any gardeners, any footmen, perhaps even a maid? Did you see anyone pass by you that morning?"
Victoria remained silent.
That morning.
It was such a peculiar feeling, to have so quickly and permanently locked a memory with such ecstatic intensity at the simple sensations of it - the touch, the smell, the sounds, the emotions – she spent hours just floating in it, when all of a sudden there came eleven clear, concise and utterly objective captures of that moment. Physical representations of her once intangible emotions.
She didn't panic.
It was proof.
Proof that it really did happen. That she held him that way, that his hands ran across her back, that her nose grazed his cheek along with her lips. But it also showed her something else – something wholly unexpected, and something she would never have discovered within her memories: That he looked at her.
And not in a normal way. Not in a cold, dispassionate way - but in a way that made her melt. In a way that drowned her right back into the indescribable sensation the moment.
He looked soft.
He looked handsome.
He looked damn sexy.
And she was there. She was the person in that picture with him, looking like that. Her entire body had flushed with a giddy heat when they finally presented her with the tablet and she saw the catalysts for their panic. She knew she should be alarmed. She knew there was a security breach, a leak, and that the images would already have been shared around the world a million times over.
But he looked sexy, and she didn't look too bad herself. And they were in each other's arms. And the way he looked at her – it made her think, just for a moment, that maybe she wasn't crazy. That maybe, possibly, potentially, he had the same kind of feeling for her, as she did for him?
She could have floated off the lounge.
"We must confiscate the phones!" Lehzen ordered, snapping Victoria out from her daze as the Private Secretary kept her path across the carpet. "We must check their bank accounts, see who has gotten a large payment."
"We in no way have the legal authority for any of that." Harriet turned her attention back to the furious German.
"She is the Queen!"
"That – " Harriet stopped her immediately. "Ok – let's just, take a pause, for a moment. This is getting us nowhere. Let's focus right now on what we can do." She waited, giving Lehzen a moment to calm, then continued. "Ok. I shall release a statement to the press, condemning the photographer, but also assuring them that the relationship between Her Majesty and the Prime Minister is strictly platonic. All we see in the photographs is a moment of support between the Queen and her mentor. This is not to imply any political affiliation – it is just that in the past few weeks they have gone through a lot together, and have formed almost a familial bond because of it."
Harriet let the statement settle in the room.
Victoria felt odd.
"Good." Lehzen said simply. "And we cancel his meetings."
What?
Victoria immediately shot a look of dismay and alarm at Lehzen then to Harriet, her throat dropping down to her chest.
"Oh, Melbourne's not coming anywhere near here." Her Director of Communications confirmed, as Victoria's lungs began to seize up. "Emma Messenger, his Chief of Staff - I know her well - and with a reputation like his, there's no chance she's letting that man step even a foot out his door right now."
"It is his fault." Lehzen shook her head as she crossed her arms in contempt. "I never liked the man. You hear all those stories… I should never have let him alone with Her Majesty."
Victoria's pulse thudded loudly in her ears.
"Well he's not got long now." Harriet said matter-of-factly. "All we need to do is ride it out and wait for the next one."
No.
No.
Her breath was tight. She couldn't speak. Couldn't fathom what they were saying. He couldn't see her? He had to. She needed him. He was her friend, her rock, she couldn't do it without him. Couldn't go on. Couldn't breathe.
They had to be wrong.
They must be wrong.
M wouldn't listen to some stupid rumours, wouldn't be caged in by some authoritarian assistant – he would come. She would see him. She had to.
She tried desperately to regain her breath, to calm herself down, when suddenly the parlour door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air along with an unexpected guest.
Victoria froze.
Mother.
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"Will."
Emma's voice followed behind him as he made his way out of the cabinet room.
"Not right now Ems – " He threw a murmured plea over his shoulder and pushed open the heavy oak door when he all of a sudden stepped into the middle another over-dramatic and over-descriptive rant from his Communications Director.
" – don't give me that feeble fucking shit of an excuse you fucking hairy-assed Mata Hari! You want to be considered a respectable fucking newspaper than you better fucking act like it, cause all I'm seeing with this fucking 'Opinion Piece' of yours, is you on your knees with all the other fucking bags of puss, fucking begging for just one suckle from Murdoch's shrivelled up cock!" Malcolm barked down his phone as he paced across the hallway.
"Still here?" Will couldn't resist teasing his friend.
"Still a cunt?" He shot back coldly as he swung the phone away from his mouth, then swiftly swung it back and continued his tirade, not missing another beat.
Will allowed himself a small wry smile, then carried on down the hallway with heavy footsteps, when he found himself flanked by both Emma and Malcolm, walking lock step beside him.
"We need to talk." Emma ordered.
"It's not fucking information, it's speculation!" Malcolm carried on down his phone. "You're posting fucking fan fiction and calling it fact!"
"Philippa's waiting for me, remember?" Will tried to ignore his noisy shadow and kept his eyes forward.
"Well excuse me for not knowing you'd transitioned into a fucking thirteen year old girl!"
"Precisely why we need to talk." Emma replied firmly.
"I can handle her." Will deflected.
"Yeah cause you've always been a real fucking hit with the ladies." Malcolm slid in dryly.
"Shut up Malcolm." Emma threw him a glare.
"I wasn't talking about you." The angry Scotsman replied to his invisible victim on the other end of his call.
"This isn't something that's just going to be swept away, Will." Emma warned.
"I know."
"We're on shaky ground with her as it is."
"I know."
"Will, if we could just – "
"I can handle her. Truly." Will jumped in before she could finish, then softened himself as they started to approach his office. "It's all just one big misinterpretation." He slowed his pace when Emma didn't reply, then stopped at the door and turned to face her properly. "You trust me, don't you?"
Emma remained silent. Just looked at him with those eyes, and in that way that made him feel like she could see through every single atom of his body.
Will's heart sank.
He gave a weak attempt at a smile, then turned away from her silence, turned away Malcolm's continuing barrage down the phone, and opened the door to his office.
The Leader of the Liberal Democrats stood up from the chair opposite his desk, as Malcolm forced on a cheery demeanour and strode in with a smile.
"Philippa!" He said with an attempted light charm, closing the door behind him, then held his hands out for a welcoming shake. "Pleasure to see you, as always."
"Don't." Was all she said.
"Ok." Will stopped awkwardly, and clasped his rejected hands behind his back as he stood to attention.
"I want to hear it from your own mouth that nothing has happened between you and Queen Victoria." She demanded, cutting right to the chase as always, her short stature and beady eyes behind her famously large glasses still managing to intimidate him.
"Nothing has happened between me and Queen Victoria." He acquiesced smoothly.
"Why don't I believe you?" She just frowned.
Will blinked, trying to think why she had even bothered to ask then - but stepped away before he could say anything that would get him into deeper waters.
"Those photos were taken completely out on context." He said calmly as he moved to the other side of his desk. "I was merely wishing her a happy birthday, when she decided to give me a hug."
"In your shirtsleeves?" She threw up an unimpressed eyebrow.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware we were in 1850 – " Will was unable to hold back the retort, but then he rested a hand against his chair and returned to his more composed act. "Yes. In my shirtsleeves. I had taken off my jacket. It was hot. When it is hot I tend to sweat, and when I sweat I tend to stink. I did not wish to expose Her Majesty to that, nor would I you, nor anyone else."
"Is that what you expect me to tell the concerned members of my party?" Philippa frowned. "That you experience perspiration issues? You expect them to be content with that?"
"Would you like a hug?" He slipped out before he could stop himself, which he immediately regretted. "Sorry - I shouldn't joke - I don't know - It's been a long day."
"It's 9:15 am."
"Exactly." Will took in a deep sigh and sat his heavy bones down on the dark leather chair. "Do I expect your party to be content with that? I don't know." The weariness drowned him with a crashing wave as he leaned back into the chair and stared bleakly at his unimpressed guest. "It's the truth. But then who's ever content with the truth?"
"The fact is, Melbourne, this is all the media will be talking about for days." Philippa looked down upon him, unaffected by his ennui. "And we did not join you to get wrapped up in another one of your silly tabloid tempests."
"No."
"We're not going to spend our days as your apologists."
"Of course not."
"This coalition is a two-way street."
"It is."
"The longer this nonsense goes on, the longer my party will question the benefits of this union."
"Indeed." Will continued to nod along, as he felt the tide of frustration rise up within him once more. "But if you can, consider another truth, Philippa – who else can you form a government with?" He asked plainly, locking her with his gaze as he reached his limit. "Your only other option is the Conservatives. And if you think your party members are unhappy with having to deal with the lies about my personal life, just imagine how pissed off they'll be when the Tories force you to throw out half their policies."
"Are you threatening me, Melbourne?" She met him with a cold stare.
"Merely stating facts." He shrugged, putting on a breezy smile. "Just as you are."
"We gave you power." Philippa glared. "We gave you that very chair you sit on."
"And it is very comfortable." Will said smoothly. "But do remember that you at least share this power. As you said, it's a two-way street. I doubt Mr Cameron would be so obliging."
"Why don't I call him and find out?" She rose her brow in what he presumed was an attempt at cunning.
"Why don't you." Was all he could be bothered to respond. "That's your prerogative. But now, however much I thoroughly enjoy our chats Philippa - I've got about a thousand other more important things to deal with than this stupid fabricated gossip – so if you don't mind…"
"Of course." She gave a tight polite smile, which looked uncomfortable on her grim face. "I know when I'm not wanted."
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"My darling!" Her mother rushed into the parlour, leaving the door wide open in her wake like an unwelcome gust, and planted herself at Victoria's side on the lounge. "My precious girl, what did he do?" She snared her daughter into a tight hug, Victoria's nose choking with her heavy perfume as her chin stuck itself awkwardly against her mother's shoulder. "I was at the country house and rushed here as soon as the news came." She finally released Victoria from her arms, when she instead scooped her face in her hands and held her in place as her heavily made up eyes stared deep into hers. "My dear girl. My dear, sweet girl. Mother is here for you now. You can tell me everything."
Victoria stayed silent.
Her unwanted appearance seethed in her like acid, as she was still trying to comprehend the possibility that she might never be allowed to see Mr M alone ever again.
She wanted out.
She wanted -
"Your Grace." Harriet's voice interrupted carefully. "This is a welcome surprise I – "
"Who did this?" The Queen Mother snapped to her, freeing Victoria's face as the turned fully to the two staffers. "Who did this to my girl?"
Harriet and Lehzen threw a quick look at each other. Harriet took the plunge.
"We are not sure ye-"
"Not sure?" Marie echoed with contempt. "How is that possible? This is your staff, Lehzen – you should know who you can trust! I knew this would happen, I knew it!" She turned back to Victoria, leaving a fuming Lehzen glaring at her in silence. "This is why I recommended Sir John to you, see? He is so much more knowledgeable, so much more in control. He would never have let this happen – but he can fix it. It is not too late, I'm sure. I can as– "
"Forgive me, your Grace." Harriet shot a look at the quiet butler, who appeared from the shadow of the hall and finally closed the door on them, allowing them the much needed privacy, when she stepped in place for Lehzen, who seemed unable to defend herself against her former boss. "This is not a very good time for any sort of leadership change, I'm afraid. It would give the appearance of deeper institutional problems, rather than this whole issue being the fault of a singular bad apple."
"How do you propose you find this 'apple', then?" Marie looked at up her, unimpressed.
"That was just what we were discussing." Harriet replied politely.
"Discussing? Ha! Yes, always discussing and never doing! I am sorry to have interrupted!" She dismissed Harriet with a flick of her hand then turned her attention back to Victoria, her face morphing into something attempting softness as it looked upon her silent daughter. "But I am here now." She clasped her hand. "Here to help. And to say to you, dear Dri—Sorry. Victoria – See? Even your silly old mother can change – I am here to say to you that I am sorry. I am so sorry I left you with that snake. I knew who he was – all these years we have been in the same circles, he has always been using women. I used to think him only a cad, but now I see – how late I see! – that he is really…a predator. A terrible predator. And I left my dear sweet girl in his clutches." She ran her thin, bony fingers along her daughter's hairline.
Victoria could explode.
The anger filled her body with a red heat, constricting her lungs, twisting her stomach.
What the hell did this woman even know?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
And yet there she sat, pretending to comfort, pretending to understand. Only ever for her own benefit.
Why was she even here then? It's not as if she ever really cared about her. And all the stupid talk about Mr M – how could she sit there and tarnish his name, and pretend like she herself had never fancied him, never tried flirting with him?
Hypocrite.
Just because he didn't respond to her unwelcome advances. Just because he was far better than her –
A sudden thought hit her with terrifying clarity.
No.
But.
Of course.
Victoria looked upon her mother with cold eyes, the pieces falling into place in her mind. Of course. This was a typical Marie Hanover move. Like the time when Victoria was eleven, when she ordered the cook to make her daughter sticky pudding, just so she could yell at little Drina for not watching her weight. It was always the same, and she always just sat there and accepted it. But not anymore.
Without a word, she stood straight up from the lounge.
"Victoria?" Her mother frowned in confusion.
But Victoria didn't look at her. Didn't look at anyone. Just marched away to the door in silence.
"Dear, where are you going?" She could hear her mother's concerned voice behind her as she swung open the door and stepped out into the cavernous corridor. The butler looked surprised at her sudden appearance, but then gathered himself into a quick bow as she strode forcefully down the hall of the palace, carried by a heady wave of anger.
"Drina?"
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Will slumped over his desk and pressed the pads of his fingers deep into his eyes in exhaustion, when he heard his office door open.
"Well?" Came Emma's expectant voice.
He let his fingers fall and blinked open his heavy eyelids to see Emma and Malcolm standing firm on the other side of the room.
"I may have fucked up." Will said simply, his voice small.
"Christ." Emma cursed in exasperation and closed the door, when the room filled up with a harsh, high-pitched ringtone and Malcolm tapped the screen of his phone, killing the call. "This is why we should have talked! This is why! You know she only ever manages to aggravate you."
"Well if she wasn't so damn stubbornly righteous…" Will started, but was met with a glare from his friend. Malcolm's phone began to ring out once more, cutting through their staring contest.
"All aboard the fucking HMAS Melbourne, with a non-stop, one-way and fully fucking catered trip straight to a big fuck-off iceberg!" He strode into the middle of the office, punctuating his speech by dramatically hanging up on the new call.
"Weren't you supposed to have quit?" Will asked dryly.
"Can't quit what's already sunk." Malcolm snapped back.
"Philippa will run around in a tizzy, make her threats and accusations, but then she'll come back in line as she always does." Will responded wearily.
"Not talking about Philippa." Malcolm said simply.
The room stilled.
Will felt the weight in his chest once more.
"No." He looked away.
"What's going on between you and Fanny Mercury then?" Malcolm asked in the silence.
"Nothing." He lied.
"Ok yes, I suppose in theoretical fucking physics you're correct, fucking Stephen Gawking – there was barely a fucking atom's breadth betwixt you and the fucking Commonwealth Incarnate - practically nothing at all! But, you know me, I'm all about those fucking feels. So please. En-fucking-lighten me about your whole emotional situation."
"She's a friend. Aren't I allowed to have a friend?"
"No! Not when they make my life a living fucking hell!"
"Didn't stop you from befriending me." Will couldn't help but quip back, at which Malcolm froze in his spot as he towered over the desk, his face distorted in anger.
His phone rang out once more.
"Right!" He snapped, throwing up his hands and smashing the glass screen of his phone in frustration to cut off the noise. "That's it, I'm out of here! I'm fucking out!"
"Malc – " Will quickly stood up from his chair in the sudden realisation that his friend might actually be serious.
"No - fucking sit down Sugardrop! You're not stopping me! I'm out of here. Fuck, I shouldn't even be here! I was retired from this fucking festival of festering fucking fops they call government long ago! I should be at home, staring at a blank fucking page and getting fucking vomited on by my unappreciative progeny! I shouldn't be here! I don't want to be here! But I am – and do you know fucking why?" He stepped up to Will, glaring at him under his fierce brow.
"Because I asked." Will replied calmly.
"Bingo! You asked, and I delivered. So why the fuck don't you think I don't deserve a proper fucking answer from you now?"
He was caught. Will felt Emma's gaze upon him from the other side of the room. The feeble flame flickered weakly in the open. But he couldn't keep this up anymore - he needed them. He took in a steadying breath.
"We're friends." He said simply, causing Malcolm's expression to snap instantly back into anger.
"That's it I-"
"No, Malc, stop – I'm telling the truth." Will jumped in to placate him. "We're friends. Honestly. That's what we've both – I don't know - classified ourselves as being, and that's just what we are."
"No benef-"
"No." He cut him off quickly. "Just friends. What you saw in those pictures, that was the first time we'd even hugged." Will forced out the words, his stomach tightening in discomfort as he revealed something so objectively innocent, yet somehow incredibly intimate.
"Does she fancy you?" Malcolm asked frankly.
"No." Will answered immediately, but then saw his friend's unimpressed look. "Maybe. Quite possibly. But it's harmless, and I'll never act on it. It's just – it's been a difficult time for her, and I've tried to help her through it in the best way I can. Never expected to befriend her, but here I am. She's sweet, and I enjoy her company. And she doesn't deserve one iota of the shit that's about to be thrown her way."
"You know that shit mainly stinks of you, yeah?" Malcolm raised an eyebrow.
"I know. But it's the press that's throwing it. They've been waiting for something like this for a long time – You know it, I know it. And now they're going to have an absolute field day, no matter what the truth, no matter who the casualties."
"You expect me to feel bad for royalty?" Malcolm looked at him grimly.
"No, I don't expect you to feel anything. I don't expect you to do anything." Will sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes. "You're right – I've already asked too much from you. I asked you to come back into politics, and you did, and you've saved my head more times than I can count. For that, I am eternally grateful." Will looked at Malcolm carefully. "However right now, we're on the brink of war. And I'm trying everything I can to keep us out of it – but it's not going to be helped with this cacophony of lies from the press blaring over everything. So I need your help. For just a couple of months, then you can go right back into retirement. I just can't do this on my own. I need your help."
The lanky Scot only glared at him, when the piercing ring tone from his phone filled up the silence of the room once more. But he didn't move. Just stared into Will's eyes. Frozen. Calculating.
"Fuck you." He finally cursed him with a gruff voice, then in a sudden swift movement, swung up his phone between then, punched the screen and lifted it to his ear. "What?" He barked into the phone, and Will let out a deep breath of relief. "Look, I'm well aware that you've never been touched, but even a thousand year old virgin like yourself can tell the difference between a platonic fucking hug and whatever triple X fucking midnight special you're making it out to be!" Malcolm ranted down the line, shooting one last threatening look at Will, then wrenched open the office door and marched out into the corridor. "Watch yourself Soy Boy, you're sounding rather un-fucking-feminist right now – "
The door slammed shut behind the thin man, cutting off his angry rant, leaving only the faint echo of it trailing off as the office descended into a still silence.
Will took in a breath.
Emma was watching him.
He knew she was.
"Starting to get some greys in the back there now." Her smooth voice chimed through the quiet.
"Hmm?" Will ran a hand absentmindedly through the back of his hair and peered over his shoulder to her. "Am I?"
"Just a few." She said simply. "Don't have to break out the Clairol just yet."
"Good." He replied softly, his voice low as his eyes dropped to the floor and he slowly made his way back behind the desk, the exhaustion rising up to swallow him whole. But he knew Emma wasn't going to leave him just like that. He fell back into his chair and swivelled slightly to face his friend, who sat herself down neatly on the opposite chair, and let them wait.
"She's a nice kid." She finally spoke.
"Ems…"
"What?"
"Can we not do this right now?"
"What? I'm just saying she seems nice. From what little time I've spent around her, she seems like a perfectly nice girl."
"And?"
"And nothing."
"Ok then." He naively hoped that wrapped up the conversation, but they just sat in expectant silence.
"I suppose…" She began carefully, and Will couldn't help but tense up. "…I guess I'm just trying to figure it out."
"What?"
"You."
He stopped short, honestly surprised. "You know me."
"Do I?"
"Of course you do." He protested honestly. "You know me better than anyone. Better than what's for your own good."
"Didn't see this coming."
Her words hit him like a ton of bricks.
No.
Neither did he.
But there he was anyway, his every waking moment wrapped up around thoughts of the young Queen.
He looked at Emma, and saw he needn't say anything. His face had explained it all.
He slumped back into the leather backing of the chair.
"I'm a mess." He groaned. "Just a big, stupid, bloody mess."
"That you are, Billy." Emma gave him a sad smile. "But the first step to recovery is admission."
He gave a frown. "You think I'm addicted?"
"I think you're in far deeper than you're even aware."
"And what makes you think I want to get out?" He tried carefully.
"I don't." She said shortly. "But a time will come soon when you'll have to."
"I know." He replied, his voice dark as he looked away. The hole in his chest grew cold. "I know."
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Victoria slammed the door to her bedroom, shutting herself off from the rest of the world, and let her momentum carry herself in when she finally stumbled to a halt in the middle of room, her mind taking a second to catch up.
There was nothing around.
Nothing. Just silence.
Her blood pumped quickly through her veins, her breaths were still short and sharp as she strode back to the door, checking for the appearance of any voices, getting ready for her defence.
But nothing came.
Her breaths became longer, her heart rate slowed to a steady tempo, as she stood at attention by the door.
Surely her mother would come. Surely she would charge into her room as she always did, and demand to be heard.
But nothing came.
Her tense body gradually began to relax, as her eyes began to wander across her empty room. Every piece of furniture she chose herself, every rug, every artwork, every pot plant – it was completely discordant to every other room in the palace, but it was hers. The one true thing she had absolute control over, and the one thing she could always find some comfort in.
Except now.
Now, as the adrenaline and anger slowly dripped away from her body, she just felt empty.
So horrifically empty.
Mother had betrayed her, the world knew about her and Mr M, and she might never see him alone ever again.
Her feet felt like they could buckle out from underneath her. Quickly pushing herself off the door, she moved to her bed and sat down on the mattress.
It was strange.
The pain.
The deep chasm in her chest that ached in a profound manner.
She had never felt that before.
But she'd been there before. There on that bed, on her old bed, sitting alone in her empty room, studying the silence, contemplating her loneliness. She had never felt particularly intimidated by it. It was a fact of life for her, one of the few certainties, a companion for her whole life.
But now to face it again seemed excruciating.
She had felt so much joy with him. Joy, confidence, and hope. Most of all hope. That was the most unexpected gift, despite the madness of the world around them. And now it had been wrenched from her chest, leaving only a black void of sorrow.
Victoria fell back onto the bed, and stared up to the plain white ceiling.
She had kissed his cheek. If she tried hard, she could remember the feeling of it, the touch of his skin, the heat of his breath against her ear.
But it was gone.
Tainted by the knowledge that she will never feel that again.
That she was alone again.
Forever.
She started to cry.