Author's note: Thank you so so much for the positive reactions to this story. It's longer than I first envisioned, and has at least 2 more chapters, but it's been fun. Please enjoy.
He awoke in the sort of rare bliss that only ever occurred when he found her in his arms. Her sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted and his had been too. She was still where she had fallen asleep hours ago, her back to his chest and her body moulded into his. It was so uncommon that he bent to bury his nose in her hair, to enjoy the rarity of her sleep as fully as he enjoyed her waking.
"Good morning," she muttered sleepily, "How are you feeling?"
"Better," he said seriously, "Much better."
"You're like a radiator," she whispered, "I tried to escape your grip at some point during the night but you wouldn't let me go."
"Story of our life," he squeezed her hip, "What's the time? I should be on shift. I-"
"You are kidding, right?"
She turned in his arms to look at him.
"You have got to be joking," she said again with the incredulity she reserved for his stupidest comments.
"No," he said seriously, "I'm not."
"Need I remind you, you collapsed? Heavens above Joseph," she squeezed his arm painfully and it was such a shock that he nearly flinched, "You aren't fit."
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being bloody realistic," she said sharply, "And you leave this bed to do anything but shower and let them change the sheets and I swear I'll fire you."
"Did you just threaten me Clarisse?"
He sat up, propping himself against the rich antique headboard.
"Yes," she pulled herself up too, "And I meant it."
"I'm fine," he swore but, having sat up, he wasn't so sure of that.
His entire body felt weighted, bones made of granite, and his head felt woozy. It was a hangover from the fever, he knew, but getting out of bed so soon would be impossible if he really wanted to be the best he could be.
"You're grey."
"And…" he conceded resentfully, "You're right. Not better enough yet."
"You are good," she pushed the sheets away and climbed out, "But you're not that good. I better go and lie in that room next door and pretend I slept there all night. Move and I swear Joseph…"
He held up a hand, "Alright, alright, I promise."
He lay staring up at the canopy of her bed for only half an hour before she returned to the bedroom, the maids trailing behind her, dressed and ready to start her day. She'd showered and donned a trouser suit and all evidence of their peaceful sleep seemed to have disappeared.
"Good morning," he pulled himself up again, aware he had a role to play, "Your Majesty. Forgive that I cannot bow."
She gave him a small smile, "Good morning Colonel. The maids have agreed to fetch you some pyjamas and your toilet bag. Then they'll sort your breakfast and change the sheets while you shower, and then you should remain all day. Here. And do not move."
"Your Majesty-"
"No protests," she motioned to the girls on either side, "Both ladies agree that your value to this palace outweighs the inconvenience to them."
Both girls nodded sincerely and gave a little curtsey.
"I-"
Her stern gaze was enough to commit any protest to extinction. He merely nodded and watched as the maids went, closing the door behind them.
"Can I get a T.V.?"
She shook her head and laughed as she perched on the edge of the bed, "Promise me you'll rest."
"A book then?"
"A book is fair enough."
"Power dressing?"
He slid his hand onto her trouser-clad thigh.
"It's a metaphor."
"Parliament?"
"Yes," she scowled.
"And my sister?"
He asked it tentatively but she seemed not to take on his sheepish tone.
"She's coming at eleven. Mia will meet her, since I can't. She'll bring her here."
He couldn't help but be panicked.
"Here? As in to your rooms?"
"No, as in to another dimension," she touched his cheek, "Of course here."
"Clarisse…"
"Joseph?"
"Really?"
She stood up and checked her watch, "Yes, really. Either that or you walk back to your suite and greet her there. In which case you greet her as a jobless man. Your choice."
She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He shrunk away.
"I haven't brushed my teeth in twenty four hours."
"Joseph," she turned to go, "I love you."
"I love you too. Enjoy Parliament."
He watched her go, admiring was probably more apt a description to describe his observation, then sunk back down into the sheets.
When the maids arrived they were despondent and confused. He had to explain he didn't own pyjamas, rather embarrassingly, and praised their decision to resort to a pair of grey sweats and a black t-shirt.
Then weak, but refusing their help, he inched towards the palatial bathroom which was intimately Clarisse. It smelled like cherry blossom and heat and the privacy she so obviously sought. He rarely, if ever, entered this room but he climbed into the shower and leaned against the tiles and let the powerful water massage his tired muscles. He stood before the steamed mirror and shaved and took away that pallid look that had come about his cheekbones.
The maids were turning down the bed and laying out his breakfast when he emerged.
He was suddenly embarrassed by their servitude and his working class sensibilities, no matter how hypocritical they were, made him acutely aware of how pampered she was. He smiled at them awkwardly and sat down at the table.
It wasn't his ordinarily breakfast of scrambled egg and coffee.
He looked up at Olivia.
"Pancakes," she explained, "The crown princess…"
He smiled, "Right."
"Her Majesty said I was to give you this," she handed him a book, "And that I've to lock the door so you can't escape."
"There's no need for that," he said softly, "I swear."
"She doesn't seem to think so," Olivia grinned, "And her word is rule."
"If I hadn't know that before, I know it now."
The maid smiled again and left him to his breakfast.
Being trapped in Clarisse's world, on his own, turned out to be rather boring. So he slept again and awoke at ten a.m. and read the book and wondered what she was doing. He thought about using the phone at the bedside to call Shades and fabricate some lie to insist he needed to be updated but he knew Clarisse would find out. Then he rolled over and pulled her pillow to himself and fell into another bored sleep.
It was only when he heard Mia chatting animatedly in the outer chamber that he awoke.
He only had time to prop himself up and look presentable before Mia came into the room, followed by his sister.
-0-
Magda Romerro was always in Genovia. She was there for business or conferences or the release of research papers but she was almost never there to visit her brother. They were close, they spoke on the phone, but that was as far as she got when it came to entering Joseph's world. She needn't wonder why for the moment she mentioned his life and work at the palace he shut down like a Swiss knife, tight and packed against hundreds of other defences.
And her suspicions, and those of the media and the Genovian population, were only fuelled by that sharp silence.
She hadn't intended to come straight from the airport but her flight was delayed and she hadn't time to check into her hotel so she, and her overnight bag, hailed a taxi to the palace. She didn't blame the driver for looking at her like she might have lost it. She simply nodded and repeated her request.
She was met at the huge, imposing gates by two military guards who smiled politely and then grinned when she said her name.
"Forgive me," one said, "But we never thought we'd see the day when Joe had any of his family at the palace."
He pressed his fingers against a key pad and led her through a smaller gate in the huge wall.
"Actually it wasn't my brother who invited me," she said conversationally, as she followed him.
"Oh," he smiled politely, "Right."
And led her up huge steps.
At the doors she was subjected to a body scan, like the one she'd just had at the airport, then a thorough search of her bag by a man who failed to remove his sunglasses. Maybe this was the famed Shades of many a stupid story. She didn't ask.
"Dr. Romerro," the man finally said as he motioned towards a gilded seat in the opulent and unwelcoming foyer, "Take a seat and the princess will meet you directly."
She nearly blanched, "The princess?"
"Her Majesty the queen," he said gravely, "Sends her apologies she herself could not greet you. In her absence she hopes you will find the princess a suitable alternative."
She nodded, rather stunned, "I'm just here to see my brother."
The man nodded, "I know."
She was barely seated when she heard the scuff of shoes on marble and a pretty young woman appeared. She knew immediately this was the Crown Princess Amelia, whom Joseph referred to as Mia, on the rare occasion when he referred to her at all. She smiled broadly and waved a very American hand when Magda stood and curtsied. She was a project leader at the W.H.O and she knew, thankfully, how to greet royalty. It didn't mean she liked them though. Necessary evil to her mind and in countries like Genovia, not necessary at all but rich and corrupt.
"God!" The girl laughed, "Don't."
And then of all the bizarre things in the world, she pulled Magda into a hug.
"Joe speaks about you all the time," the girl cried, "It's so awesome to meet you, finally, even under these circumstances."
She was slightly wounded that her brother spoke of her openly when he never deemed it sensible to share an iota of his own life with her.
"Does he?"
"Mhmmm," the girl nodded, "He's so proud of you. I'm Amelia by the way but everyone calls me Mia."
"Or princess?"
The girl laughed, "I suppose. But not you. You're practically family after all."
"Am I?"
"Duh," the girl placed a soft hand on her arm, "Come on, I know Joe will be dying to see you."
She followed the young woman, dumbstruck as she was, through a huge ballroom and up onto grand marble stairs. It took them almost five minutes to reach a wide corridor lined with paintings and with guards posted at either end.
"Just down here," Mia smiled, pointing to double doors at the end of the corridor.
"Down here, my brother's apartments?"
Mia stalled, "No actually. My grandma's."
Magda tried to keep the confusion, and alarm, from her face. Her attempt wasn't fruitful though and the princess stalled for a moment.
"He passed out in grandma's rooms, you see," she explained, "And grandma refused to have him moved."
"Right," she said, as if that was explanation enough.
Whatever world the queen occupied, it wasn't one that Magda had ever experiences, despite her intelligence and world-weary travel history. The rooms were huge and airy and mint and cream and tastefully decorated with antique furniture. Or the central room was anyway.
The princess guided her to double doors at the end of the sitting room and rapped impatient knuckles on the heavy wood.
"Joe, it's us."
"I'm…okay, come in."
She pushed the door open to reveal a huge room with a four poster in the centre. The sashes of the windows were flung open and the curtains danced in and out, revealing a large balcony, dripping with roses, in turns.
"Joe," she smiled at the sight of her brother propped up against the pillows, "You look awful."
"Thanks M," he smiled, though it was tight.
"Mia, how are you today?"
The princess climbed onto the other side of the bed and crossed her legs.
"Your grandmother will kill you for having your baseball boots on her sheets."
The princess raised cheeky eyebrows at Magda and then answered him, "What she doesn't know won't kill her."
"Bad idea," he pushed her feet weakly away but as soon as he removed his hand she put them back in place.
"Come and hug me," he opened his arms to Magda, "I would come to you but if I move I'll be pensioned off."
She did as she was asked, feeling little for just a moment in his arms again, then setting herself on the chair beside the huge bed and organising her bag and handbag beside it.
"What he means," Mia gave his knee a gentle little punch, "Is that my grandma doesn't want him to move before he's better."
"A reasonable enough request," Magda agreed then watched as the princess kissed her brother's cheek, then bounced from the bed.
"Studying to do," she said by way of explanation and perhaps Magda needed to give her more credit for her reading of the situation than it first appeared.
"She's certainly full of life," Magda said dryly when she heard the girl vacate the apartment entirely.
He smiled, "She is."
There was an awkward silence then.
"Sorry I couldn't come to you."
"Trust me," she laughed, "This has been infinitely more…interesting."
He groaned, "I knew you'd think so."
"I didn't press the matter."
"Oh I know."
He was staring at his hands on top of the rich cotton sheets. The question was irresistible.
"Queen's bed?"
"Don't," he murmured.
"Just good friends?"
He was getting angry and, as she should well know, goading her brother was never clever but she couldn't resist.
"Oh come on," she laughed and stood and went to the side-board she'd spied, littered with photos, when she first entered.
"Nothing to tell," he grunted, "Don't touch those."
She withdrew her hands, "Just looking. She's beautiful. In that sort of posh way."
He said nothing and rolled his eyes.
"Oh, and here's one with you. Dancing?"
She had to acknowledge it was a beautiful photo. He held her closer to him in than he should have, and she was tipping her head back and laughing at something he had said.
"Enough Magda," he warned.
"Just tell me when you're going to admit it."
"Nothing to admit," he tipped his head against the headboard, "You're exhausting me."
She came towards him and kissed his forehead, "Sorry Joey. In any case, you've got it made. This bed looks pretty comfy."
"It is," he said pointedly, "First time I've been in it."
She laughed and sat down again, "How are you feeling?"
"Better for seeing you," he smiled, "How's work?"
"Exhausting but worth it."
"Good," he grinned, "I am pleased to see you're as busy as always, at any rate."
"Do I get to meet her?"
She could tell he was feigning ignorance, "Meet who?"
"The queen," she laughed.
"I doubt it. Busy woman, much like yourself."
She frowned, "I have a real job."
He laughed darkly, "Calm down my little republican, otherwise you might be the reason I get fired. And trust me, it's a real job."
She was about to answer when the door of the suite clicked open and a maid entered, carrying a tray laden with a silver tureen and fresh bread and a jug of freezing water.
"Her Majesty asked me to bring lunch sir," the girl barely acknowledged Magda's presence, "For you both."
"Thanks Olivia," he answered quietly, and Magda could tell he was uncomfortable, "Just sit it on the table please."
The girl did as she was asked, setting it on the small breakfast table beside the balcony, and left after she set the tray down.
He pre-empted her criticism with a morose face.
"'Sir'? Wonders will never cease. I had failed to realise you were so important," she stood up and lifted up the heavy lid of the tureen.
The smell of delightful soup wafted towards them.
"I'm more important than I let on," he corrected, swinging out of bed and onto unsteady legs.
"Is that so?"
She ladled two bowlfuls for them each.
"Better than the finest hotels in Paris," she observed, after her first mouthful.
"I don't know…" he shrugged, "I'm used to it."
"'Course you are."
She dunked a piece of bread in, "Because you are, defacto, the man of the house."
He frowned and shook his head, "Will you ever let it go?"
She laughed lightly, "Uh no, not until I know all the details."
He let his spoon clink carelessly against the fine china, "Well we're going to be arguing for a long time."
She smiled then, and was about to regale him with the latest woes from their older sister Rita, when the door to the bedroom clicked open again. It was not hard to know, this time, who it was and Magda had no need to turn around.
His entire body language changed in the instant the door fell open. Perhaps it would be imperceptible to anyone else but Magda suspected the only person who didn't realise it was her brother himself. He smiled and made to stand.
"Don't Joseph," a lilting voice, musical and well-bred, said.
Her brother remained where he was at her words.
Magda turned simultaneously as she stood.
She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but the world's cameras failed to capture the warmth, too, which seemed to come from her. Then again, it could simply be the case that they were in her territory, in her world.
The other woman smiled and nodded as Magda dipped into a curtsey.
"You musn't…" she came towards them, "Please, you shouldn't do that."
"It's a pleasure, Your Majesty, to meet you."
The queen smiled, "I feel entirely the same. Joseph speaks of you so fondly, it's high time we met."
Magda smiled, "My sentiments exactly."
"I am simply stopping in," she pulled either ends of her suit jacket together in a curious little gesture, "To let Joseph know that Shades has all in hand," she turned her attention to Magda's brother, who'd been quietly listening and watching until that point, "And to apologise that I couldn't spend more time. I have a hectic day today."
"That's quite alright," Joseph smiled and his voice had taken on a different quality altogether, something Magda had never heard before, "Don't worry."
"I was about to leave anyway," Magda smiled, addressing the queen.
"Oh were you?"
"Yes," she motioned to her bag, "I still have the hotel to check in to. I originally planned to only fly in for the day, for the conference tomorrow, but my brother insisted I make time for him."
The queen laughed and Magda noticed that her brother smiled very gently then, at the sound.
"Ah, and then he had the nerve to fall ill," the older woman looked down at the topic of conversation, who was quietly shaking his head, "How rude Joseph."
"I know, right?" He laughed, "I seem to be a source of great irritation to all the ladies in my life just now, Your Majesty."
A sculpted eye-brow rose, "Oh Joseph, you sound very self-pitying," she turned to Magda, "I insist you stay here. Despite the wonders of the Grand Hotel, I'm sure the palace can accommodate a representative of the W.H.O much better and a sibling of an employee even more. Stay, for dinner, keep your brother company here."
Magda was taken aback by the generosity, the free and easy suggestion that she knew would horrify Joseph. She wondered if the woman knew, or if she simply did it out of kindness.
"I really wouldn't want to-"
To her infinite surprise, it was her brother who spoke, "It's Her Majesty who's asking you to stay. It would be impolite to refuse. And anyway, I could be doing with the company. I'm usually occupied all day."
At this he threw a grin in the queen's direction, one Magda could only have missed had she been blind.
"Honestly, it's-"
"Setttled, apparently," the queen smiled, "Bare in mind, Magda, that your brother exercises more clout in this palace than I do. His word, as they say, is rule."
"Not in the last two days," he muttered under his breath.
The other woman smiled crookedly but ignored him, "You must call me Clarisse, please. I insist."
Magda felt rather dumfounded, "Al-alright. Clarisse."
It seemed to suit her far better than 'Her Majesty'.
Clarisse touched a fleeting hand to her brother's black-clad shoulder but, as quickly as she did it, she withdrew, "Rest. I will see you at dinner."
He smiled but he did not look at her, "Yes."
Then she was gone, expensive heels clicking across the antique wood.
He dipped his head and began furiously spooning soup into his mouth. There was a blush colouring his cheeks, making his face glow.
"I-"
"Don't," soup dribbled out of his mouth.
"I was simply going to say," she said slowly, "That I was very impressed with how lovely she was."
He looked up but it wasn't relief on his face as she'd expected to see, it was incredulity, "Of course she's lovely."
Magda sighed, "Can I win with you Joseph? You shut all of us, every one of us, out at every turn."
He let his spoon rattle into his nearly empty bowl. He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he took them away, as she waited expectantly, he looked to be in pain.
"Because it's easier," he said quietly, "Trust me."
"Is it that bad?"
"It's not anything," he shook his head, "It's complicated. I don't want to…Clarisse's reputation…"
He shook his head again and resorted to taking a huge gulp of his water. It was the first time Magda had heard him use the queen's name in all the years he'd worked there. There was something intimate about it.
"Are you in love with her?"
Magda tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the curiosity from her voice.
He examined the filigree on his spoon then shrugged, "I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Is she in love with you?"
"What does it matter?" He whispered, but it was fierce, "There's nothing we can…"
"Right," Magda felt the urgency of his pain and knew she had to back down, "I'm sorry I pushed."
He nodded, "I have to keep it separate. You see why, now?"
She nodded.
I hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you can.