A/n – Okay, now, a few wee things. First off, I'm not sure when Joe becomes Head of Security, so I've assumed he already is. It just works better this way. Also, I know that Spain doesn't officially have a monarchy, but I hope you won't mind a little creative license. I mean, there are those who would claim that Genovia doesn't exist… :o)
That night it had been bitterly cold and the rain had been lashing at the windows. He had been all in favour of postponing the journey to the Spanish coronation ceremony until the following morning, but that would hardly have left enough time. Both the King and Queen's presence were customarily required at such events, and the coronation of the new Crown Prince of Spain was no exception. Usually they would have flown together on the private jet, but King Rupert had changed his mind at the last moment. His head was bothering him, and he had decided that the change in cabin pressure during the ascent and descent would not help. Not to mention the weather. Although it wouldn't have been impossible to take off, with winds this strong Joe couldn't help but wonder how long they would have had to wait for clearance.
It was after eight-thirty, and he was briefing the other security staff on procedure for the nine-hour drive ahead of them.
"Right, now I apologise for the short-notice of this evening, but I'm afraid that can't be helped. We will be taking five cars, with the standard police escort in front and at the rear. I will ride with the King and Queen, in the first car, Martin, you will accompany the Prince in the second, and Lionel, Andrew and Simon, you will follow behind with Charlotte and the two Spanish diplomats. The route has already been mapped, and the authorities have been alerted."
Martin yawned, clearly not impressed at losing his Friday night off. Joe continued,
"I am not expecting any problems, but this weather will mean that the drive will be slow. Please remain vigilant and in constant radio contact. Any questions? … Right, you have twenty minutes to collect your things before we leave. Everyone out front by five to nine."
As Joe wandered back towards the main hall, he was surprised to hear raised voices from the library. Unmistakably, the King was in a foul mood,
"Look, if you don't want to come, don't. No one is forcing you."
"I'm sorry, father, it's not that I meant to arrange things this way. But I have promised.
"For all that counts!"
"It does. She means a lot to me. I'm sorry that you fail to see that. I…"
"Look, just stay… your mother and I will make your excuses for you. Just go, I'm really not in the mood for this now, Philippe."
Joe waited, undecided whether he should enter yet and tell the King that the cars were ready. Philippe was moving around the room, probably tidying up whatever he had been doing, maybe he could step in now, casually, without it looking…
"Joseph?" her voice startled him. He'd been so concentrated on the conversation in the library that he had not heard her approach. He smiled nervously. She smiled back.
"I think the appropriate expression, Joseph, is 'busted'"
"Busted, your Majesty?" he replied innocently, "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Hmm…" was her only reply, eyebrow raised. His eyes scanned hers, looking for that something, something more. It was there, that knowledge of what they had shared exactly two weeks ago at the dinner, on the balcony. Not now, not here, he told himself. He smiled again, mentally caressing her cheek with his hand, running his thumb over her lips.
"I think you can go in now, my dear" she whispered that last part, and for a moment he doubted that she had said at all. Turning to glance back at her as he moved towards the door though, her smile told him what he longed to know.
"Sir, the cars are ready…"
"So Prince Philippe is not coming then Joe?"
"No Martin, so it looks as you've got your weekend back."
"Nice one – great. It's the wife's birthday and she was gonna be seriously pissed if I missed it. Thanks man, I really owe you one."
Joe patted the young man on the back, and watched him scamper back up towards the palace, trying not to get too soaked. He was a nice lad, simple, but honest and he would make a good guard one day. He sighed, getting into the now empty second limo, shaking his umbrella as he did. As he closed the door and relaxed back into the plush leather, he smiled at his clever planning. With one less royal, and a spare car, the situation had become a whole lot safer and easier to manage. Lionel would ride in the spare front seat of the first car, with the King and Queen, and this second limo could act both as a decoy or a spare. It was textbook, and for the first time that day, Joe felt relaxed. The other staff could deal with the loading of the cars, he could just sit back and wait until they arrived in Madrid.
After about twenty minutes, he began to get a little impatient. The schedule was pretty tight, and he was just about to open the door to investigate, when he heard voices approaching…
"No, Charlotte, if you don't mind, I would really rather travel alone. Honestly, I'm really rather tired and I will most probably sleep the entire time. Hardly the most entertaining company, my dear!" Her voice was surprisingly clear, given the rain, and he heard each word precisely. But he couldn't help but be confused.
"Well, if you're sure, your Majesty?"
"Yes, I am, Charlotte, but thank you all the same. Now, if I take the umbrella, could you get the door?"
He held his breath as the door opened. Like the true lady she was, she sat first, and then swung both her legs into the car. She handed the umbrella back to Charlotte, uttered a swift "Have a pleasant trip", closed the door and, throwing her head back, her eyes closed, she sighed deeply.
She hadn't noticed him, and he didn't want to scare her. She brought her hands up to her face and covered her eyes and forehead, gently massaging her temples. Her breathing was rather ragged, he noticed, and she was obviously tense.
"Oh God, why do I let him get to me so much?" she shook her head, as she whispered the words to herself, completely unaware of her audience, "He really is nothing, it is nothing but duty, nothing but perceived obligation…nothing."
Joe's heart felt like it had stopped. He suddenly felt cold all over, his throat tight. Later he would be angry, but now all he could feel was hurt. Nervously, he coughed, terrified at what this outburst might mean, but having to know all the same. She started, her head snapping round to look at the intruder.
"I'm sorry your Majesty, I think there has been some kind of mistake, I…I was meant to be…" he stuttered, unable to control his tongue.
She looked at him then, straight, unwavering, and he saw the pain in her eyes, the tears threatening to fall, "Joseph…?" She tried to smile, and the tears cascaded down her cheeks. She swallowed, twisting round to face him, trying to regain her composure. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she reached out, to cup his cheek in her gloved hand. Although his mind was in turmoil, he couldn't move, accepting her touch, bending into it in spite of himself, savouring the cool silk on his skin.
She bent slightly towards him, whispering, "I'm so glad you're here…"
Her voice brought him back to his senses, he must stop drowning in this sweet torment, "But…I'm sorry, I…what you said, I can't…"
Her eyes searched his face, confused, hurt, recoiling desperately. She was so fragile beneath that hard exterior. Tears formed again, and his heart began to break.
Suddenly her eyes filled with panic, realising his meaning, as she reached out to him, "Oh God, no, Joseph no, never you…never you" Her hand grasped desperately at his shoulder, as she brought the other up to stroke his face, fixing his eyes with her own. Her words were barely audible now, "Never you"
He couldn't trust his voice to speak, and so he simply placed his hand over hers, drawing a breath he didn't realised he had been holding. Wrapping his other arm around her, he pulled her closer, until their foreheads were touching. "Never you", she whispered, turning her face to kiss his hand now cupping her cheek.
"I'm sorry, I should never have doubted you" he whispered into her hair, "I never will again. I promise." He took her face in his hands, and stroked away the tears with his thumbs. "You'll never have to…"
As he brought his lips down to hers he realised that this was the moment, from here there would be no going back. He loved this woman, more than he valued anything. It was his job take a bullet for her, but now he would gladly give his life at her most casual request. He would even walk away from her, if that was what she wanted. At first their kiss was gentle, cautious even, he wrapped her in his arms, stroking her back, running a hand through her hair, deepening it a little. They relaxed into each other, enjoying the warmth of intimacy so long denied to both. When they broke apart, she looked up into his eyes, serious, yet relaxed, and asked,
"How long, Joseph… I need to know?"
"Eight years ago, March 16th, about four o'clock. My…"
"…your first day. I remember." Her fingers found his, and intertwined them with hers.
"And you?" he asked cautiously, still not quite believing,
"Same day, about five o'clock, when you managed to drop your brand-new, state-of-the-art earpiece into the fountain. Very professional!" She giggled to herself at the memory. "Of course, it took me a lot longer to realise, to admit to myself…"
They had both relaxed a bit now, comfortable in each other's embrace. Kissing her gently on the lips, caressing them, Joe whispered, teasingly, "So, your Majesty, any particular reason you decided to steal my ride?"
He felt her tense slightly, and instantly regretted the question. Moving back an inch, he looked at her, coaxing her on,
"Well, my dear, it is my husband we have to thank for this particular seating arrangement." She shook her head a little, clearly trying to organise the most diplomatic way to phrase this. "He is in rather a foul mood and finds me, quite frankly, irritating…before…it..it was Rupert to whom I was referring."
He couldn't help but feel a slight surge of resentment against his monarch. That man had no idea how to treat her, no concept of kindness or warmth. Yes, he was a good ruler, yes, he was fair, but he was not loving.
"I am sorry, Clarisse" he pulled her close once more, needing to feel her against him, "I can't imagine how…" She wrapped her arms around him, snuggling into his chest, not needing any answers, simply soothed by his warmth.
Joe shifted in the huge leather chair in his office, his back beginning to twinge. They had stayed like that for most of the journey, he thought, with a wry smile, just holding each other. She had been exhausted, and had slept in his arms for a couple of hours, waking shortly after they crossed the border. As they had travelled down through the mountains she had asked him about his childhood, his family, his interests, looking up occasionally to smile at him or stroke his face.
She had been right (as always, he added, with a smile), that had been the first time they had been truly alone. In those precious moments they had realised not only the depth of their love for each other, but devised the ways in which they might meet. The secret moments, the stolen kisses, the private meetings. They had all stemmed from this one journey. He yawned, suddenly sleepy. In need of caffeine, he wandered out of the office and down in the direction of the kitchen, just in time to hear Charlotte and Paolo arguing about the various merits of the Brazilian. Charlotte, it would seem, was vehemently against it, declaring the results to be 'like a plucked chicken', whilst Paolo, as ever, seemed all in favour of this new hairstyle. Whatever it was it sounded painful, he mused, shaking his head as he passed, hoping that Mia might fill him in later on the finer details…and that Clarisse was not now sporting a haircut that resembled a Mohican.
A/n OK, I'm going to take a few days off now, to actually write the evil paper and celebrate New Year. Am aiming for the next chapter (which will switch back to Clarisse) by the end of next week. Thanks for all your reviews – I've found it so encouraging! Enjoy the festivities, /tc/