Disclaimer: Nothing about love actually is mine. I'm just using the characters. I beg forbearance.

I haven't written much lately, blame it on the job I just got. It's like sucking the brain power out of me. Still, I'm back! =D

uChapter 4/u

"Jules! Come look. Old Mac's at it again. Every bloody spring he goes and renovates his house. Daft old man," Peter called out to his wife, the excitement evident in his voice. Julia rolled her eyes as she imagined her husband leaning out the window like the perverted voyeur he is. No, of course he's not a voyeur, but she has terrible imagining powers, so. . .

"I just saw him just now when you called, Peter! Now, will you bloody let me watch Jamie Oliver in peace, you geezer?" There was a thundering of footsteps as Peter ran up the stairs. He gave him wife a grin.

"C'mon, what's the Oliver lad's got that I don't?"

"He cooks?"

Peter frowned. "Right, right. There's that. But come now babe, how hard is it for a lad to cook? Just throw the pig in the oven, and there you go! Baked ham." He sat down next to Juliet, and she automatically leaned against his broad chest. He pointed to the telly. "There, see, Jamie's doing the exact same thing!"

Juliet laughed. "You old fool." She switched off the television, and looked up at her husband. "So what's going to happen to you today?" Peter sighed, and stood up.

"I will be drenched in the rain that the weather geezer reported while getting slammed in the face by doors trying to sell insurance to wankers, who if I have my way, will die before the day is over."

Juliet stood up too, and tip-toeing slightly, kissed him gently on the lips. "I'm glad you're going to have such a productive day." She walked her husband out the door, and gave him another kiss. He grinned and walked off, before stopping abruptly and turning to face her again.

"The tap in the kitchen's spoilt, ain't it?" Juliet affirmed his question with a nod. "Ah, you know me, I don't do maintenance well, the oaf I am. Times are bad, hon, so let's not hire the plumber yeah?"

Juliet opened her mouth to protest, but Peter beat her to it. "Before you throw a wobbly and lock me out of the house, I've got'en Mark to come round later to fix it."

At the name of Mark's, Juliet blushed involuntarily.

"You all right there, hon? You seemed a little flushed," Peter asked, concernly taking a few steps towards her. She waved him off with an "I'm good". Not entirely convinced, Peter gave her a wave and sauntered off to work.

+++

"Ey! Anyone up in there?" Mark shouted, more than a little nervous at seeing Juliet. Alone. He breathed in deeply, his fist clenching the handle of his bulky toolbox almost involuntarily. He had been standing outside the house ringing the doorbell, and feeling like a right idiot, for the past ten minutes, after which he realized that the door wasn't locked after all.

"Hello?" He called out again, taking a few more steps into the house and closing the oak door behind him. "Juliet? It's erm," he paused for a while, looking up the stairs, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of her. "It's Mark. The bloke. Who'd be fixing your tap." He continued. He placed his heavy toolbox on the floor. "Peter's best friend," he shouted up the stairs. "Just in case," he added. "I'm not a criminal, so don't pop out with a baseball bat and all." He gave a nervous chuckle, before realizing how stupid he sounded talking to himself.

Shrugging, he headed for the kitchen, a little disappointed at not seeing Juliet, but yet, relieved that he won't feel that guilty towards his best friend.

+++

Juliet opened the door, and looked at it in mild surprise. "I'm sure I locked it earlier. . ." She thought to herself, then decided that it was no big deal. After all, she was in a hurry when she left, and this was perhaps the safest neighborhood in all of London. She walked in, and promptly gave a shout of surprise.

"It's me! It's me!" Mark shouted over the din, trying to calm her down.

"Bloody hell, Mark. How in blazes did you get in here?!" Juliet asked/exclaimed, as she bent down to pick up the bags she had dropped in her fright.

"The door wasn't locked," he explained. He helped her pick her stuff up and placed them on the table by the stairs. "Sorry," he apologized.

"It's all right. I just didn't expect you so early," Juliet replied, a blush on her face. She would later tell herself that it was because of the fright, and not Mark's presence. "Tea?"

"No thanks, I've got to be going. I still have a job. And now I need to change," Mark replied, waving at his wet shirt and pants.

"Trouble with the tap?" Juliet asked dryly, a smile on he face. Mark swallowed hard, and looked down, up, left and right. Anywhere but her face, with the gorgeous smile.

"Yeah, trouble," he repeated. "Well, I've got to be running now, so goodbye. Have a nice day." He hurried to leave, but stopped when Juliet intercepted him.

"Come now, the temperature's still low outside. You'll get a cold. At least take off your clothes."

"WHAT?!" Mark's eyes bulged out of his sockets.

This time, Juliet's blush was obvious. "I mean. . ." She gave a resigned sigh, throwing her hands in the air. "Oh you know what I mean! Just take off your clothes, I'll lend you some of Peter's. A cup of hot tea, and you'll be fine." She spoke briefly, almost business-like, but it was evident that she was more than a little amused at the conversation.

"Well. . ." Mark trailed off. It was cold outside, after all, and he wasn't that much of a dunce. "All right then." He gave her a tentative smile. "But only because you forced me."

"Because I forced you," Juliet replied, in a soft whisper, as though it was a conspiracy. She smiled at him, and once again, Mark felt his legs turn to jelly. As she walked towards the kitchen with her groceries, Mark collapsed on the couch, burying his head in his hand.

What has he gotten himself into?

+++

Juliet placed the groceries on the kitchen table, and walked towards the sink. She turned the tap, and a smile grew as water spilled from it. He fixed it, he really did. Her smile dimmed, as she remembered what she said to him.

"Take off your clothes?" She asked herself bitterly. He must think you as a blooming idiot, she thought, shaking her head. Popping her head out, she watched as Mark sat on the couch, albeit a little violently, and her heart began to pummel wildly. She closed her eyes and leaned against the doorframe.

What has she gotten herself into?

A/N: I finally updated! Shocking! Now it's your turn to review, cos it does inspire me. Really.