Disclaimer: Richard Curtis owns Love Actually. Sniff.
There was silence in the room, except for the occasional sound of Mark sipping his tea. He stared straight forward, clad in fresh dry clothes. Beside him, on the other end of the couch, sat Juliet, also looking straight ahead.
There was a deep sigh, and Mark turned slightly.
"So," he started, trying to make conversation. "So. . ." C'mon you fool, think of something! Think! "Good tea," he finally forced out, cringing at his stupidity.
Juliet turned, amusement obvious on her face. A corner of her mouth lifted up in a shadow of a smile. "Good tea," she agreed. She met his eyes, and Mark looked away awkwardly. Silence again.
"Oh bloody hell!" Juliet shouted suddenly, waving her hands in the air. Shocked, Mark fumbled, and his tea spilled over his pants. "Oh crap," Juliet said. "Oh crap crap crap. I am so sorry," she apologized, grabbing a bunch of napkins. She reached over to wipe the mess, and then stopped when she realized which part of his pants he had spilled on.
Sensing the tension, Mark took the napkins gently from her, waving away her apology. "No big deal," he told her. "Happens all the time."
Juliet was not consoled. She shook her head in disgust, falling back against the chair. "I'm a fool, a bloody tosser. All I wanted was to be friends with you, for Peter. And then things have to get all complicated."
Mark kept silent for a short moment, before giving her a "devil-may-care" smile. "We're Brits," he told her. "Complicated bastards, the whole bunch of us." He threw the napkins into the dustbin. "You see, if we were Yanks, now things would be different." He gestured to her.
Juliet raised her eyebrows. "And why would it be different?"
"Because," Mark paused dramatically. "Because the Yankees are simple-minded fools. They don't have our power of imagination."
"And that's why America's perhaps the greatest country in the world," Juliet quipped sarcastically.
"Exactly!" Mark applauded, slamming his hands on the table, like an eccentric professor. "That's why America's the greatest country in the world," he repeated.
"You're a fool, you know that," Juliet informed him, and Mark nodded.
"Who else but a fool would fall for his best friend's wife?"
The words came out before he could stop it, and Juliet's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"I'm sorry," Mark told her. "See, Brit," he pointed to himself. "Complicated bastard." He cleared his throat. "Things were going fine, weren't they?" he asked quietly. "I've ruined it again, haven't I? I'm a bloody tosser, I am." He shook his head, and his eyes peering out from his behind hooded eyelids.
"Hey," Juliet said, making her tone light. "Now we know you're a true Brit! I always secretly thought you were a yank at heart."
Mark furrowed his brows, confused for a moment, and then he smiled widely, giving her a smile to show her that he appreciated her attempt to bury the tension, so to speak, again. "Well. . . Just because I watch the NFL and I have a poster of a very sweaty Shaq O'Neal in my room does not mean I'm a Yankee." He paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. "Or gay."
"Well, thanks for making that clear, Mark."
"Oh ha bloody ha. I'll have you know that I watched every coverage of the woman's football world cup."
"Oh, you weren't chosen to be in the English team then? Sad," Juliet quipped, laughing. Mark's breath caught in his throat at the sound of it, but he forced himself to swallow the desire to reach over and kiss her.
"You think you're just so funny. I was the star of the Maxford Academy football team! If it wasn't for photography, I'll probably be playing in Arsenal as we speak. So there!" Mark informed her, somewhat pompously.
However, instead of a comeback, Juliet's eyes widened. "You're a gooner too?" She asked. "I figured you for a devil's fan, like Peter?"
"The whole Manchester United thing is just so overrated," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "Peter was never smart," he added, grinning. "Did Pete ever tell you about the time. . . "
+++
"So, babe, how was plumbing with Mark?" Peter asked, his eyebrows raised. "I hope it didn't go too badly, seeing how he can be a wank at times."
Juliet shook her head, as she laid down beside her husband. "Nope, it went really well." At Peter's surprised stare, she smiled. "Your wife can be charming when she must." Peter laughed, gave her a quick kiss, and laid his head on his pillow.
"Well, good. Now Mark can accompany you whenever I'm not free. After all, who else can I trust to protect my beautiful wife from other lads, right?" Peter closed his eyes contently, not bothering to wait for Juliet's reply.
Juliet looked at her husband, and then she too closed her eyes.
+++
The telly burst into static, and Mark reached over to yet again rewind the wedding video of his best friend's. The muscle in his jaw tightened as he breathed in the beauty of Juliet. Sighing at his lack of a social life, he smiled a bittersweet smile.
If the photography gig failed, at least he would be comforted to know he was a perverted stalker in the making.
With that neurotic thought, Mark closed his eyes contently, and dreamed of Juliet.
+++
A/N: Arsenal FC: Football club in London, England.
Gooner: An Arsenal's fan.
Devil's fan: Manchester United FC's fan.
Manchester United FC: Football club in Manchester, England.
Sorry, my friend wanted me to put the football clubs in. Nuts about football, my friend, and so I decided it would make a nice belated Christmas present for her if I put her favorite team in my story. Anyway, please please do review, even though I'm taking eons to update. Blame it on the writer's block, and the lack of romance. . . =D
There was silence in the room, except for the occasional sound of Mark sipping his tea. He stared straight forward, clad in fresh dry clothes. Beside him, on the other end of the couch, sat Juliet, also looking straight ahead.
There was a deep sigh, and Mark turned slightly.
"So," he started, trying to make conversation. "So. . ." C'mon you fool, think of something! Think! "Good tea," he finally forced out, cringing at his stupidity.
Juliet turned, amusement obvious on her face. A corner of her mouth lifted up in a shadow of a smile. "Good tea," she agreed. She met his eyes, and Mark looked away awkwardly. Silence again.
"Oh bloody hell!" Juliet shouted suddenly, waving her hands in the air. Shocked, Mark fumbled, and his tea spilled over his pants. "Oh crap," Juliet said. "Oh crap crap crap. I am so sorry," she apologized, grabbing a bunch of napkins. She reached over to wipe the mess, and then stopped when she realized which part of his pants he had spilled on.
Sensing the tension, Mark took the napkins gently from her, waving away her apology. "No big deal," he told her. "Happens all the time."
Juliet was not consoled. She shook her head in disgust, falling back against the chair. "I'm a fool, a bloody tosser. All I wanted was to be friends with you, for Peter. And then things have to get all complicated."
Mark kept silent for a short moment, before giving her a "devil-may-care" smile. "We're Brits," he told her. "Complicated bastards, the whole bunch of us." He threw the napkins into the dustbin. "You see, if we were Yanks, now things would be different." He gestured to her.
Juliet raised her eyebrows. "And why would it be different?"
"Because," Mark paused dramatically. "Because the Yankees are simple-minded fools. They don't have our power of imagination."
"And that's why America's perhaps the greatest country in the world," Juliet quipped sarcastically.
"Exactly!" Mark applauded, slamming his hands on the table, like an eccentric professor. "That's why America's the greatest country in the world," he repeated.
"You're a fool, you know that," Juliet informed him, and Mark nodded.
"Who else but a fool would fall for his best friend's wife?"
The words came out before he could stop it, and Juliet's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"I'm sorry," Mark told her. "See, Brit," he pointed to himself. "Complicated bastard." He cleared his throat. "Things were going fine, weren't they?" he asked quietly. "I've ruined it again, haven't I? I'm a bloody tosser, I am." He shook his head, and his eyes peering out from his behind hooded eyelids.
"Hey," Juliet said, making her tone light. "Now we know you're a true Brit! I always secretly thought you were a yank at heart."
Mark furrowed his brows, confused for a moment, and then he smiled widely, giving her a smile to show her that he appreciated her attempt to bury the tension, so to speak, again. "Well. . . Just because I watch the NFL and I have a poster of a very sweaty Shaq O'Neal in my room does not mean I'm a Yankee." He paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. "Or gay."
"Well, thanks for making that clear, Mark."
"Oh ha bloody ha. I'll have you know that I watched every coverage of the woman's football world cup."
"Oh, you weren't chosen to be in the English team then? Sad," Juliet quipped, laughing. Mark's breath caught in his throat at the sound of it, but he forced himself to swallow the desire to reach over and kiss her.
"You think you're just so funny. I was the star of the Maxford Academy football team! If it wasn't for photography, I'll probably be playing in Arsenal as we speak. So there!" Mark informed her, somewhat pompously.
However, instead of a comeback, Juliet's eyes widened. "You're a gooner too?" She asked. "I figured you for a devil's fan, like Peter?"
"The whole Manchester United thing is just so overrated," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "Peter was never smart," he added, grinning. "Did Pete ever tell you about the time. . . "
+++
"So, babe, how was plumbing with Mark?" Peter asked, his eyebrows raised. "I hope it didn't go too badly, seeing how he can be a wank at times."
Juliet shook her head, as she laid down beside her husband. "Nope, it went really well." At Peter's surprised stare, she smiled. "Your wife can be charming when she must." Peter laughed, gave her a quick kiss, and laid his head on his pillow.
"Well, good. Now Mark can accompany you whenever I'm not free. After all, who else can I trust to protect my beautiful wife from other lads, right?" Peter closed his eyes contently, not bothering to wait for Juliet's reply.
Juliet looked at her husband, and then she too closed her eyes.
+++
The telly burst into static, and Mark reached over to yet again rewind the wedding video of his best friend's. The muscle in his jaw tightened as he breathed in the beauty of Juliet. Sighing at his lack of a social life, he smiled a bittersweet smile.
If the photography gig failed, at least he would be comforted to know he was a perverted stalker in the making.
With that neurotic thought, Mark closed his eyes contently, and dreamed of Juliet.
+++
A/N: Arsenal FC: Football club in London, England.
Gooner: An Arsenal's fan.
Devil's fan: Manchester United FC's fan.
Manchester United FC: Football club in Manchester, England.
Sorry, my friend wanted me to put the football clubs in. Nuts about football, my friend, and so I decided it would make a nice belated Christmas present for her if I put her favorite team in my story. Anyway, please please do review, even though I'm taking eons to update. Blame it on the writer's block, and the lack of romance. . . =D