"I should be getting back," Juliet says, rolling over on the worn cotton blanket she brings each time. She washes it after each visit, so it always smells foreign, like soap and chemicals Richard's never smelled before. It smells like the future---his future, apparently, with her.
"I should, too. They'll miss me." He pauses for a beat.
He doesn't ask if she will miss him (as much as he misses her during the long hours of the days in between), but she answers anyway, with just a wry smile and a softening of her eyes.
They both understand the concept of duty all too well. She has a responsibility to her people, and he to his. But here, once a week, under the cover of palm trees and by the side of the ocean, there's no one to answer to.
The clock's always ticking, though.
"I'll walk you as far as the pylons."
"You always do." She kisses him lightly just before throwing him his shirt. She has this way of watching him, sitting up as straight as an arrow, wordlessly studying him as he does the most commonplace things, like zip his pants or tie his shoes. Her gaze is far away, as it often is, and he knows she's thinking not of another place, but of another time.
"I don't hate you," she says, apropos of nothing. He wonders if this is her way of saying she loves him. It's frustrating---but also wondrous--how she knows every button of his to push, knows all the stories he has to tell before he's told them, knows him better than she has any right to when he's still only beginning to understand her.
He hedges his bets when he replies, "These weekly meetings wouldn't make much sense if you did."
She mouth laughs even though her eyes are still reflecting whatever seriousness has suddenly possessed her. "I could be crazy. You never know."
"You aren't." He's finally come to believe it, all of it.
Juliet leans forward and waits for him to pull her in close. "Please remember. No matter what, I don't hate you."
Richard pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear and breathes in one last drink of her before getting up. He feels a sense of dread, and all the questions they've agreed he'll never ask bubble to the surface: what happens to the... what does he do... when does she leave him... But he's good at keeping a tight lid. So is she---learned it from him, she always says. "I'll remember. And just for the record, I don't hate you either."
*
They're lolling on top of the sheets, the afternoon sun making the room golden and soft.
"I want to go home, Richard. Why won't you help me go home?"
The moment shatters. This is always what does it.
"I can't. Ben..."
"You outrank Ben. If you---"
"It doesn't work like that."
Juliet draws back from him, her hair catching the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window so that it looks as though she's wearing a halo of fire. An angel damning him for his selfishness. He should never have brought her here. He had a choice and he chose his own happiness at the expense of hers, convincing himself that this was what she wanted, too, even though she couldn't possibly know it, even though he knew it wasn't the life that sweet woman in Miami would ever have chosen for himself.
"It could if you wanted it to," she presses.
"I'm sorry Juliet."
If he lets her go now, he doesn't know how he'll ever get her back. It can't be long now. The thin scar along her shoulder that he remembers being relatively fresh when they first met is currently a bleeding cut hiding underneath a bandage.
"I hate you." She doesn't raise voice. She doesn't even sound angry... only tired, depressed. "I hate you."
He closes his eyes, pictures her looking exactly as she looks now, only so long ago. "You don't hate me," he whispers to the woman in his mind.
A hard slap across his face makes him open them again, brings him back to the present. "How dare you."
He reaches for her wrist. "Juliet..." But there's nothing to say, no allowable explanation.
"You tricked me into coming here, you hold me against my will... and now... how dare you tell me what to feel?" She throws him his clothes. "Get out."
Docile, he dresses and leaves, repeating as a mantra only after he's shut the door behind him, "She doesn't hate me."
OMG. MY HEART. IT'S SOMEWHERE BETWEEN BROKEN AND OVERFLOWING.
This is amazing. It's time-twisty and sweet and angsty all at once. Basically everything I love. Juliet telling him she doesn't hate him, him bringing her to the island because he doesn't want to lose what they have, that last line...just YES. Thank you so much for this! <333
Whew! Glad it was okay! I knew I had to do something timey-wimey for you with them. ;) They're the best pairing in the whole show for that. I've rarely thought about this pairing, but every time I do, I find that I ship it! Hard.
Ahhh, this is so perfect. I love time-twisty stuff with these two, it just works. And Richard's guilt over bringing her to the island just kills me. :((
"I should, too. They'll miss me." He pauses for a beat.
He doesn't ask if she will miss him (as much as he misses her during the long hours of the days in between), but she answers anyway, with just a wry smile and a softening of her eyes.
They both understand the concept of duty all too well. She has a responsibility to her people, and he to his. But here, once a week, under the cover of palm trees and by the side of the ocean, there's no one to answer to.
The clock's always ticking, though.
"I'll walk you as far as the pylons."
"You always do." She kisses him lightly just before throwing him his shirt. She has this way of watching him, sitting up as straight as an arrow, wordlessly studying him as he does the most commonplace things, like zip his pants or tie his shoes. Her gaze is far away, as it often is, and he knows she's thinking not of another place, but of another time.
"I don't hate you," she says, apropos of nothing. He wonders if this is her way of saying she loves him. It's frustrating---but also wondrous--how she knows every button of his to push, knows all the stories he has to tell before he's told them, knows him better than she has any right to when he's still only beginning to understand her.
He hedges his bets when he replies, "These weekly meetings wouldn't make much sense if you did."
She mouth laughs even though her eyes are still reflecting whatever seriousness has suddenly possessed her. "I could be crazy. You never know."
"You aren't." He's finally come to believe it, all of it.
Juliet leans forward and waits for him to pull her in close. "Please remember. No matter what, I don't hate you."
Richard pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear and breathes in one last drink of her before getting up. He feels a sense of dread, and all the questions they've agreed he'll never ask bubble to the surface: what happens to the... what does he do... when does she leave him... But he's good at keeping a tight lid. So is she---learned it from him, she always says. "I'll remember. And just for the record, I don't hate you either."
*
They're lolling on top of the sheets, the afternoon sun making the room golden and soft.
"I want to go home, Richard. Why won't you help me go home?"
The moment shatters. This is always what does it.
"I can't. Ben..."
"You outrank Ben. If you---"
"It doesn't work like that."
Juliet draws back from him, her hair catching the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window so that it looks as though she's wearing a halo of fire. An angel damning him for his selfishness. He should never have brought her here. He had a choice and he chose his own happiness at the expense of hers, convincing himself that this was what she wanted, too, even though she couldn't possibly know it, even though he knew it wasn't the life that sweet woman in Miami would ever have chosen for himself.
"It could if you wanted it to," she presses.
"I'm sorry Juliet."
If he lets her go now, he doesn't know how he'll ever get her back. It can't be long now. The thin scar along her shoulder that he remembers being relatively fresh when they first met is currently a bleeding cut hiding underneath a bandage.
"I hate you." She doesn't raise voice. She doesn't even sound angry... only tired, depressed. "I hate you."
He closes his eyes, pictures her looking exactly as she looks now, only so long ago. "You don't hate me," he whispers to the woman in his mind.
A hard slap across his face makes him open them again, brings him back to the present. "How dare you."
He reaches for her wrist. "Juliet..." But there's nothing to say, no allowable explanation.
"You tricked me into coming here, you hold me against my will... and now... how dare you tell me what to feel?" She throws him his clothes. "Get out."
Docile, he dresses and leaves, repeating as a mantra only after he's shut the door behind him, "She doesn't hate me."
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This is amazing. It's time-twisty and sweet and angsty all at once. Basically everything I love. Juliet telling him she doesn't hate him, him bringing her to the island because he doesn't want to lose what they have, that last line...just YES. Thank you so much for this! <333
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Love it!
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