It had been a long time since Juliet Nott had set foot on English soil.

As she stared out the small kitchen window into the luminescence of the London skyline, slim fingers curled around the counter’s edge, contracting and then flexing in a tense rhythm. Barely a blink afflicted her eyes as she took in the sight of the city she had not seen in so long, but her concentration could not hide the tangled web of emotions that flashed past.

To say that there had never been the chance to return would have been a lie; there were plenty of chances to come, if she had so chosen. Truthfully, Juliet couldn’t place one definitive reasoning as to why she’d stayed away so obediently, excusing the day-or-two trip she had made a few times a year up until six years ago.

At first, it had been out of fear. Fear of Voldemort and what his remaining followers still might do, given the information she had finally believed from Rhys concerning what had happened to her brother. Then, it had been worry for the children, who were not old enough to take care of themselves. And then, of course, the moment Evan and Aemelia had been able to go off to school, to be put into the care of someone else... He had risen again.

But still, Juliet didn’t know why she hadn’t come. Becoming a mother, coming to understand the horrors of two wars and the realities of what could happen had forced out fear for herself long ago. The children were at Beauxbatons, hidden safe away in France, and yet she hadn’t moved upon the idea until this very moment--until the moment her husband had gone, alone, at the height of the battle, and left her.

Juliet shifted in discomfort at the thought, but in the depths of her heart was the unavoidable--although entirely deniable--truth of her presence. Yes, the second the children had returned to Beauxbatons, she had picked up a Portkey and left, straight for the London address Rhys had left behind when he’d first departed three months before. With all that had been happening each day as a result of this war, she was not about to allow him to jump into the middle of it alone... or leave her behind in the process.

At the click of a door, she took a deep breath and finally closed her eyes. No, he wasn’t getting away with this this time.

His experience here in England for the past few months had been.... less than desirable. Actually, if he was going to be completely honest, Rhys had been quite miserable. He had never been the one to enjoy doing what others told him (whether it be beneficial or not), and this current situation of his was no different. Rhys had not enjoyed being pulled from his firm in France, forced to put Four-Eyes McSmells-Bad Moreau in temporary charge, he had not revelled in the looks and hisses he had received from Juliet once he told her he was leaving, and quite frankly he did not appreciate how thinly veiled everything had become. Legislature could at least attempt to not make it look like they were purposely locking away a portion of their population with little trial or evidence. It was simply unprofessional; the mudbloods should at least have a chance to talk away their worthlessness.

Feeling a headache come on from the long day, Rhys stopped outside the front door to massage his temple with his hand. A part of him was secretly thankful that the Dark Lord, nor anyone else for that matter, had ever found his presence and talents necessary outside of dealing with public face and the Ministry. He couldn’t imagine having to deal with the long Ministry days, and then being sent out at night for whatever other services. Sometimes he was, but that was rare.

When he went to open the door, Rhys had expected to be welcomed by the darkness of his makeshift home like every other night. Instead, his eyes darted toward the light coming from the kitchen. He had spoken too soon, apparently. Quickly slipping out his wand from his cloak, Rhys only took a few steps forward before he froze in place.

Juliet? Caught off guard, Rhys internally fumbled. What was she doing here? How had she--- why was she--- he thought he had clearly expressed his flat out refusal for her coming here. He had seen how easily the Dark Lord was sucking in entire families for his gain--- the Malfoys particularly came to mind-- so it was safer, much safer for her to stay in France with the children. Not to mention he had a daily reminder through Will of how sour things could turn if she found out the real truth as to why he was here.

Uncomfortable at this thought, Rhys quickly sought to speak. “What are you doing here?” he asked steadily. He paused for a moment, hoping for the best. “Have the twins blown up a person on their way to school again?” He would gladly deal with another angry parent than whatever his wife felt was so necessary to pull her here.

Of course he had been clear. Rhys had made certain that he was entirely clear about his wishes concerning her and his extended stay in London. She imagined that could be one of the few reasons for why he would bother to return during the summer weekends: so that he could keep a stopper on her agitation concerning leaving her alone with the children, or her suspicions that he wasn’t actually doing work. He had to know from experience how she responded to long periods of absence for “work”--he had clearly been trying to prevent this exact situation which had presented itself now.

But that wasn’t it. It was, but it---

Again, Juliet shifted uncomfortably, and she pursed her lips together, still facing the window with her back to him. There were very few times when she did not know what to say, but she was actually concerned with being careful with her words for once. If she just yelled at him, as she imagined he expected her to do, achieving her goal of staying in London would be compromised. The problem was, she barely knew how to speak with Rhys when she wasn’t yelling at him. True, they had relaxed considerably in the way they regarded each other throughout over 20 years of knowing one another, but when a behavior was hard-wired, it wasn’t just so simple to overwrite.

“The twins are fine.” That was simple enough to start with, and it bought her time that wasn’t blanketed in awkward silence. Not that this wasn’t awkward already--trying to be kind was not something that Juliet had ever done without some sort of discomfort attached. “I’m here because---”

For fuck’s sake, it really wasn’t what difficult, was it? Infuriated with herself, Juliet forced her body around, determined to not let herself act like a shy teenager. When it came down to it, all she had to do was come out with it.

“I don’t intend to stay in France alone,” she breathed out at once, fixing him with a serious gaze. “And I don’t think---that you should be in London alone, right now.”

Yes, that had been that difficult. He had better pray he was smarter than to note that she was showing---concern for him. It would not last long if he did, no matter if she actually cared or not.

So she... wasn’t here to expose his Death Eater status and drive him from their current life? That was nice to know. But his relief concerning that situation had did not help with the other that Juliet had brought up instead.

Was she--- she was showing concern for his well-being while expressing her disinterest for being left alone? He didn’t--- he didn’t--- his left eye began to twitch compulsively. In all the years that he had known and spent with Juliet, he had seldom experienced such a frank display of emotion from her. Yes, they had gotten older and therefore better in dealing with each other, but age had also enabled them to become quicker and better with their words. They had also almost expertly avoided the tender subject of this war (or lack there of, really) to the point where they had simply never really talked about it. Rhys supposed he had Caradoc Dearborn to thank for that, but the day the twins won a citizenship award would be the day Rhys thanked his dead brother-in-law for anything.

So what was he supposed to say to that? Juliet had created quite the problem. She obviously couldn’t stay here in London, but after that confession Rhys would not easily be able send her back to Paris. Even the slightest hint of his refusal would have her cementing her feet to the floor. Rhys couldn’t leave--- they would all be killed for that of act of treachery; he had to stay here. He certainly could not tell the truth of what was really going on, so.... he couldn’t even use the children as a possible distraction because they were off to school! So, if he wanted to keep everything the way it was, he would have to let her stay.

How had she so expertly trapped him with two small sentences?

Frustrated, Rhys let out a lot of air and shook his head. No, no there must be someway to get out of this. He had practically expertly guided her through the first war without confrontation, and he was smarter, better now, so how could this be happening? As he sought to think of a solution, Rhys felt the invisible clock ticking down before his response would take too long and give Juliet reason to be suspicious.

Buying some time, he walked over to the kitchen table to put his wand down on its surface, then seated himself. Rhys let out a long sigh, and closed his eyes in effort for one last-ditch attempt to think of a better solution. Nothing came to mind, of course. There was a reason why he had agreed to marry her, and it wasn’t because of her stellar personality.

So, admitting almost complete defeat, Rhys looked up toward Juliet with a tired and worn expression. There was one thing he could say, he supposed, that might change her mind, but.... he knew a lost battle when he saw one. “So you understand, then, that the reason you want to stay here and the reason I would like you to return home are the same?” Rhys spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully and speaking in a passive tone. He did not want to upset her.

Well, that was... entirely not the sort of response she had been expecting.

Of course, that wasn’t to say that she had been expecting yelling or anything so dramatic, but at the very least it struck her in Rhys’s character to fix her with a frustrated glare and deliver a strongly worded lecture.

Or, you know, just tell her flat-out ‘absolutely not.’

As it was, he’d done none of those things. He was frustrated, yes, but he’d merely gone over to the table, sat down, and said one singular sentence. Juliet watched him carefully, as if it was some sort of trick and he would turn around on her at any second and ambush her, fight her, physically drag her down to the Ministry and book a Portkey... After all, the way he had acted months ago towards the idea of her accompanying him to London had been no less than definitely impermissible. Her husband was no stranger to tricks and games, either, which she could argue was the entire reason they had gone off and gotten married in the first place. Was it really so inconceivable that she would be wary of him now, suddenly seeming to just give up on arguing with her before the argument had even begun, and what he might or might not have had up his sleeve?

But---he was doing nothing. Juliet tilted her head to the side and regarded his face as he looked at her, feeling a strange and almost child-like curiosity at the fact that she saw absolutely nothing in his visage that told of ulterior motives to his resigned demeanor. She would have liked to think that after so many years she knew how to read Rhys to some extent, and there was nothing setting off warning bells here. Should she, Merlin forbid, believe it?

Juliet had made no effort to fill the heavy silence in the room this time as she let the seconds tick away before finally letting out a breath and pushing--slowly, hesitantly--off the counter. She approached the table and the man seated at it as if she were approaching a sleeping lion; and he very well may have been, for all she knew. Barely blinking and refusing to take her eyes off him, she silently seated herself in the chair just to the side of his and folded her hands over each other on the wooden surface, fixing him with a mildly suspicious but tentatively relieved stare.

“I did not come because I don’t---understand what the stakes are,” she began in a similar tone as he had. There was no getting away from the fact that she was highly uncomfortable with speaking to him more candidly than she had during the entirety of their relationship. That said, if there was one moment that it had ever been necessary to give a little, to... let him see just a sliver of anything that she had been feeling for the past several months--it was right then. This war had gotten out of hand, was getting worse by the day and... she regretted every single day, that she had never put away her pride and opened up to Caradoc. Now, as much as it physically pained her, she----she had to do everything she could, to stay there.

“There’s no way in Hell that you can convince me to leave--” ---you.

The final word caught in her throat, and was lost. No, it was far too difficult, to say that.

Rhys exhaled a long breath, propping his elbows up on the table to easily place both his hands on his face. In addition to the sting of failure mixed with anxiety he was experiencing, he could feel a wave of uncomfortableness begin to seep through. Juliet was just going all for it, wasn’t she? He really.... did not want to continue this conversation, or speak at all for that matter. There was nothing he could say to make this situation go away or get better; all Rhys knew was that all he wanted was for her to return to France immediately.

Nothing short of a miracle would have to occur for that to happen the way Rhys wanted. Perhaps this thought was what bothered Rhys the most. He had tried so hard over the past two years to maintain the same lifestyle and character before the Dark Lord had returned, and all that work was coming dangerously close to blowing up in his face with his wife worrying about his safety. His safety! When it was the other way around! He was the one putting other people’s lives danger, begrudgingly everyday because he would much rather be back home in relative obscurity than paving the way for a new Great Britain. He had sacrificed so much along the way, and it could all have been for nothing.

More frustrated than before, Rhys dropped one of his arms to the surface of the table, letting its cool surface counter his hot skin. “I know that,” he snapped, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the true point and tone of Juliet’s last statement. All Rhys was thinking about was how once Juliet made a decision about something, there was effectively nothing anyone could ever say or do to change it. He had figured that out the hard way over the years, and tonight would no doubt be any different. This only made his skin feel tighter and his body feel heavier.

“You just---” Rhys started strictly, then shook his head to himself. His emotions could not get the best of him; he had to put them in calm, well-placed words or else this would all go to hell. “You just can’t stay here,” he spoke much quieter this time, making sure to look her in the eye as he spoke. “It’s not safe for you, it’s not safe for both of us so far away from the twins, and I can’t---” His next words caught in his throat, wanting to be out of his mind but unable to make it past his mouth. Rhys swallowed, and felt his back straighten as it felt like tiny quills had begun to lodge their needles in his spine.

“I can’t--- I need you to stay alive. And if you’re here---” He continued to struggle, unsure as to how much more of this he could handle. “There isn’t a war going on in France. It can... it can protect you better.”

She couldn’t quite describe the feeling that overcame her at that moment besides an experience of all the sense and words rushing out of her mind in one fell swoop. Juliet felt very hot and very cold both at the same time, and her left hand worked to squeeze her right several times in the same tense rhythm with which she had gripped the counter before. It was that feeling of being stunned, caught off guard, which she had had the displeasure of experiencing only a few times before in her life--all of them, as this was now, a result of something Rhys had said.

Juliet hated this. She hated this more than anything in the world, and that was why for so long such situations had been met with a mutual willingness to shut up and forget the entire thing had occurred in the first place. It was an understatement to say that either of them was uncomfortable with sharing their---feelings and all of that nonsense, unless it included anger and yelling. Much to the perplexity of everyone around them, they had always solidly refused to share words or discussions which were considered to be 'normal' for married couples. It was rare enough that one of them admitted to enjoying the other's presence, much less---

Just the ghost of that word sweeping past her consciousness made Juliet twitch slightly. She wasn't... averse to it. It didn't disgust her, or anything so extreme. It just simply... it was one of those things, that the idea of saying it turned a knot in her stomach. She reckoned the last time she had told someone she loved them was---when? Probably more than fifteen years ago, probably to the twins, when they would have been too young to remember such a lapse in character. Even then, she wasn't entirely certain. She might have only thought of it briefly.

Of course, Rhys had not said that. It was probably better than he hadn't, because that would have certainly been more than she could absorb. What he had done, however, was in that moment express more candid caring for her well-being than she could remember. It wasn't to say that she didn't know that this was the reason he wanted her to stay in France, but for him to actually voice it, in so many words, was new.

I need you to stay alive; those words in particular resonated in her head, and Juliet pursed her lips, unable to tear her eyes away. She imagined that she hadn't felt this weak, this vulnerable and close to cracking since that night he had told her about her brother. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could handle, but she had started this--what could she do? She would have to act quickly, if she wanted to win this battle that she had somehow suddenly come so close to losing.

It was then, in desperation, that she blurted out the only thing she could think of.

"I need you to stay alive," she said, her voice forceful considering how she felt like she was falling to pieces inside. Her hand went out before she could stop it and grabbed his that lay on the table, holding on tightly in an attempt to ground herself to get through this, because the idea of voicing her long-dormant thoughts was truthfully making her quite sick and lightheaded. "I came for you, I'm not leaving because of you. I'm not losing another part of my---family to this stupidity going on while I'm sitting on my arse in bloody France."

Lord take her. She would have liked to die right then and there.

Never, had Rhys ever felt his throat close up so tight and his stomach lurch so severely as it just had. It felt like his skin was positively willing to crawl off his body from the amount of uncomfortableness he was experiencing. Juliet was making this difficult, on so many levels, he didn’t even know where to begin.

With this new level of public openness between them, perhaps? Or maybe this... it could only be described as guilt, starting to eat away at him? She was very obviously being truthful, something he knew he could never fully return. Or perhaps, his reaction to her words alone? It was easy, yes, to gently imply his deeper feelings in a last-ditch attempt to scare Juliet back to France, but she had risen to the challenge and accepted it, proving to go and say things he found difficult to as blatantly admit to himself. Or maybe about how scared he was at the mere prospect of Juliet finding out why he was really here and his number one hobby.

Perhaps he should start with this practically unheard of sight in front of him. The image of Juliet reaching to hold tightly onto one of his hands had Rhys mesmerized. He couldn’t break his gaze away from it. Since when did things like this happen? This was Juliet’s most unsettling action for him because he had no idea what to do with it. It, if that was possible, that made her words even harder to swallow.

Rhys knew no matter how long he continued this silence, he had to respond. It was just--- it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy emotions, it was just not something that was encouraged in his up bringing or throughout his life. There had been no overly emotional confessions or gestures in the Nott household when he was younger, and it wasn’t exactly like Hamilton had been a figure to look up to for that. Being a Slytherin and a Death Eater didn’t allow for you to wear your heart on your sleeve either. In fact, Rhys had discovered early on that he rather enjoyed himself not being that kind of person--- it only inhibited in the long run, not to mention he hated it when people let their over-zealous emotions get the best of their judgement.

But.... Rhys opened his mouth, but found it was gaping like a fish’s. He didn’t think he could actually say anything that would remotely compare to what Juliet had said. There were no actions or gestures (usually he could get by with those); they all felt empty. In a vain attempt he went to curl his hand tighter around hers to support, but it didn’t feel right. Instead, his grip felt sweaty and forced, like a sad little excuse for a response

Words, he would have to use words. For the second time in ten minutes, Rhys discovered another thing he had experience before in his life; not wanting to speak his mind. He couldn’t bail out and respond with something less than what he was really feeling because Juliet had given such a display if it had been any other night Rhys would have sworn someone was impersonating her. So, with his body and mind already anticipating this huge step, he took a shaky breath.

“I can do that,” Rhys spoke quietly, his throat feeling coarse. Suddenly, a part of him felt ridiculous for feeling the way he was feeling. This wasn’t--- they weren’t wrong, and just because what he was experiencing was new did not mean he had to turn into this... numb child. Invigorated by this new realization, he shook his head and sat up straighter. He turned again to face her, leaving their hands where they were and looking to her face alone.

“I mean--- I love you, too.”

...

“You---”

Juliet might have continued, but that would have been too much to ask, for all of the air had entirely left her body now and she felt--choked, she felt like----no, she was actually incapable of the simple task of breathing at that point in time. His words had gone through her without any sense at all at first, and then hung on the air so that they could come back at her one, two, three, ten, twenty more times, each time hitting her harder than the last. Each time more like a firm slap across the cheek or a violent shake of her shoulders, bringing her to the reality she had spent nearly two decades of her life vehemently denying.

She had not gotten married as a trick or a game. She had not gotten married as a statement against their insistent brothers, or a reason to shock those around them. She had actually married Rhys Nott because she loved him, and he had agreed because he loved her and this all was absolutely far too much to fathom.

Juliet broke her gaze at him because she had to distract herself now from looking into his eyes because the earnest emotion she saw there terrified her, maybe more than even the idea of him dying in this war. Her free hand ran back through her hair shakily and then pressed hard into her face, which was hot and very likely tinged red. She wasn't embarrassed, she just---there was no need to be embarrassed, right? No, it wasn't that, it was just that this was so much, and they'd just said so many things in such a tiny frame of time that were so heavy and---

This wasn't wrong, she had to remind herself. This wasn't wrong, to---love someone, but it just seemed so very scary. It was such a basic human emotion when it all came down to it, but she'd learned so early on that loving people, or at least giving that love to people always ended in heartbreak or pain. Her parents, whom she had put so much of that stupid love into as a child had always turned their backs on her, disappointed her and disproved whatever they occasionally felt kind enough to reciprocate. It had caused her to turn that feeling of indifference on her brother, who had never encouraged any more from her himself, and somehow that had slowly become the way she regarded everyone in her life: from arm's length, never an inch more.

But she regretted that fear, so much, and she knew that. That was the fear that paralyzed her from saying to Caradoc things she should have before he was gone. That was why she had come---here---Because she felt the same way about Rhys, even if she wouldn't put it into words, and there was still some tiny chance to show him that and not make the same mistake a second time in her life.

She had never expected him to say it, though. Ever. Honestly, as proud a Ravenclaw as she was, she hadn't even known he felt that way. She knew he cared, but he---

There was nothing Juliet could do to come up with proper words after that. They must have sat there four or five minutes entirely in that same position, blanketed in the silence and not moving, and for the first time she really wasn't concerned with satisfying him with a verbal response. She just---she had to move, she had to do something to kick start her senses that had been left entirely deadened by those three tiny words, and so she rose slowly from her chair and let go of his hand.

Her legs felt like they were made of jelly but Juliet was determined to put one foot in front of another, just a couple of steps to make it to his chair and put hands on his face and kiss him. That was all she could do, in that moment, so she hoped he understood.

For a long moment, Rhys had actually thought he had scared her. As if, they were dating again, and he had gone and said too much to the point where Juliet could abruptly (again) end the relationship because it was going too fast. Or that those words had been inappropriate. They had been difficult to muster out-- he felt like he had just participated in a cross-Atlantic marathon of pain. And with her elongated silence, the more he became nervous. He didn’t--- he couldn’t lose her, after all of this---

It was frightening how loud his heart had begun to beat against his chest once she let go of his hand. What? No, he had thought--- there would be no way around this, no way to convince or trap her otherwise. This was the most true conversation they had ever had, it would be impossible to return to their normal banter so quickly. He couldn’t-- what was she going to say, what was she going to do---

An unrealistic calm washed over Rhys as Juliet placed her hands on his face. Anything else she could have done after that would have been extra, an even further reassuring statement that she accepted what he had said. He understood almost immediately what she was trying to say, and he was thankful Juliet had chosen to show it this way than any other. Words would have jolted them even more, propelling them further than where they needed to be, which was here. Rhys felt his shoulders relax, and his hands reach to lightly hold her sides as he pushed back against her mouth.

He could handle this; Rhys could accept this. And even though he was certain he would have many sleepless nights with her here, it would be worth it.