Alastor "Agent 04041953GU" Gumboil (loose_cannon) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-10-16 01:22:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! [1979-10] october, alastor gumboil, elle abercrombie |
Who: Elle Abercrombie and Al Gumboil
When: 15 October, 1979; late evening.
Where: Godric's Hollow; Potter's place
What: Talking and stuff.
Rating: PG
Status: Completed!
Elle stared at her journal for a long time and then swallowed. After her talk with Meaghan last night, she had determined to try harder, to find some morsel of hope, to give her something to fight for. She realised that after the battle at Hogwarts, she had completely lost faith. It was a hard thing to swallow, and it all came to a head when they failed so spectacularly in saving those children. But Kelly wasn't letting her see Neil's children, and so she turned her focus to a man she loved, but could no longer understand. She had thrown together a bag when she realised that she was going to head over to be with Al, so she was ready when he told her she only had a limited window. She grabbed Floo Powder, hopped in the fireplace, and with a word went spinning away. She arrived at her destination, unsure if she was in the correct place, until she saw Al collapsed on the couch, apparently asleep. She slid her bag off her shoulder and quietly went over to him. He looked so tired and so gaunt... her heart hurt to see him so seemingly weak. She knelt next to him and let the back of her fingers trail over his cheek, "Alastor," she whispered gently, "I'm here, angel." Al hadn't planned on getting out of bed today. But then, he hadn't planned on a lot of things these last few months. And he found that he could find a way to push himself to do things when it concerned Elle Abercrombie. So after he'd finished writing in his journal, he'd made the effort to drag himself into the front room to wait for her. It had taken far more effort than he wanted to admit. He was exhausted. As soon as he'd made it to the couch, he felt himself dozing, his body aching for rest after such a long night. He had been in that limbo between conscious states when he felt her fingers. Groggily, he opened his eyes and let a tired smile pull at the corners of his lips. Angel. He still didn't know where that was coming from. But he was far too tired to dispute something so trivial. She was here. With him. Al gently brushed an errant lock of hair out of her face with his bandaged left hand (he was laying on his right). He had use of his fingers, but the bandages were wrapped tightly around his palm, wrist and forearm, right up to the elbow. He'd been cautioned not to try to bend his wrist. Forgetting only once today about those specific instructions, he wasn't likely to try again, so his movement was stiff. "Heya, love," he responded, barely above a whisper. She frowned slightly when she saw the bandages wrapped around his arm, but she didn't say anything. It wasn't that she was denying the existence of the injuries, but more that she just couldn't think about the how right now. She just wanted to focus on her tired, ill, somewhat-boyfriend, and not think about why he was tired and ill. One step at a time. One day at a time. She smiled softly and leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss, "I'm sorry to wake you. If you want me to go..." Al gently returned her kiss, but then furrowed his brow and gave a derisive snort at her suggestion. "Don't be fucking daft. I just prodded you into coming here, I'm not about to ask you to leave. 'Sides, I wasn't sleeping." Well, he wasn't lying. He wasn't really completely asleep. "Liar," she said with a smile before she leaned in and stole another soft kiss, "Did you want to sleep in a bed tonight though? Or is the couch good enough for you?" She ran her fingers gently through his hair and looked at him much the way she had before the disaster of August. She did truly love this man... even if now there were a lot of complications involved. "Though I'll note I can't give you a great massage on a couch." He mused for a moment before dragging his arm out from under his head and pushing himself into a sitting position. He stayed there for a moment, collecting what little strength he had, and pushed himself to his feet. He swayed for a second and reached for the couch to steady himself before he grimly nodded toward the hall. "M'staying down there..." Elle stood and snatched her bag as Al sat up, and then was by his side in a moment when he wavered, "C'mon now, love. Lean on me." She looped her arm around his waist and hitched her shoulder under his good arm, "Let's go." She gave him a small squeeze and let him lead the pace as they headed down the hallway of the completely foreign house to her. This was where Sirius was staying? She remembered (barely) the apartment - and idly wondered the need for two places of residence. Then again, he had said someone in his family was threatening his life. Again. "Which door?" She whispered, not wanting to wake other occupants in the house. He would have liked to protest, but as he rested some of his weight on her, he knew he wasn't about to make it all the way to the spare bedroom on his own. So he just moved slowly down the hall, trying not to look like it was taking as much effort as it really was. He was stiff and sore and moving just the wrong way only made it hurt worse. At her question, he vaguely gestured at the next one on their right. "This one," he answered, unable to really hide how much this little walk was exhausting him. She just nodded, and reached forward to open the door quietly. She led him over to the bed first, and settled him down, and then turned back to the door to shut it quietly. She lit a tall candle next to the bed, and then settled on the edge as she ran her fingers through his hair. He looked so frail. Not the vibrant man she had been friends with so long and then fell in love with. But he was in there, she knew he was in there. And Meg was right. She had to fight for them. She had to fight for him. Ever since Des' death, even though she had reentered his life, she could sense a withdrawal and a cynicism sweeping over him. Foolishly, she had let it go unchecked for over a month. But she realised that the tables had turned on them. Before the attack in August, it was he who was fighting for their relationship, fighting for her. But now she had to be the strong one, and she had to fight. Luckily, that's exactly what she was trained to do. And along the way, she would deal with the werewolf thing in her own way. "Better?" She said about him being settled in the bed rather than the couch, "Can I get you anything?" Al flopped bonelessly onto the bed, a low grunt escaping his throat as he shifted an inch closer to her. He leaned slightly into her hand as she ran her fingers through his hair, craving her touch and attention. It wasn't exactly conscious, but he had missed her. More, he'd missed them. And part of him was sure that they would never be the same. Whether the war was won or not, even if both of them miraculously survived it and were well enough to still want to be each other... it would never be what they had. And he wondered faintly whose fault it was. If it was his, was there any chance of fixing it? And even more recently... was it worth fixing? They had been fine before they had known each other... They would eventually be okay apart. Except that the idea of apart made his chest constrict all over again. No. He still loved her. He loved her and maybe for that reason alone, it was worth fixing. But he couldn't think too much about that now. Not so soon after the moon. Not when he was so completely exhausted and sore. At her question, he sleepily shook his head and pulled weakly at her shirt to signal that he only wanted her closer. She laughed lightly and kicked off her shoes. She scootched closer to him in the bed and then laid down gingerly next to him, careful not to accidentally put any of her weight on him. She was uncomfortable for a moment, as she always was these days when they first touched, but soon she relaxed and settled herself in next to him. She couldn't help but smirk... maybe Meg was wrong. Maybe Elle could have a complete sex life. Even if she wasn't getting snuggles after getting shagged. She gently laid her arm on his chest and looked up at him with a smile, "Get some rest, love. We can talk, and you can get that massage, in the morning. I don't need to keep you awake." Al rested his head against her and made an indiscriminate noise at her words. He was far too tired to really think too much about the fleeting moment of awkwardness. But as his brain registered what she'd just said, the smallest of smiles touched his face. "....But I'm sore now," he said softly and gently nudged her. So maybe it was a bit whiny. But he was sure she had to work tomorrow and he missed her too much just to prod her over here and then not be awake for a little while. Yes, he would fall asleep, and by the looks of things, it wouldn't be very long. But he wanted whatever time he could get out of her right now. Right now, when he thought it was so completely obvious that he couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted to. Was she afraid of him? He hadn't asked and he wasn't sure he was ever going to. He was scared of the answer. "Well don't coax me to lay down if you want a massage. Tease," Elle chuckled lightly and sat up to slide off the bed, "On your stomach now." There was a small pause. "Lose the shirt." She knew he might protest, as he'd never been without his shirt around her unless they were mid-intimate relations. However, she was going to give him a proper massage, and wasn't about to take no for an answer. Oh, and how good it felt to hear her laugh again. Good enough so that as he sat up, he didn't protest about pulling his shirt off, despite his sudden self-conscious habits. He was careful as he pulled his left arm out of the sleeve, wincing as he managed to bump it just the wrong way. But he managed not to make a noise, and rolled over onto his stomach. No, he really wasn't all that comfortable with baring his badly scarred back for her to feel and touch for as long as she felt like, and it was probably apparent in the single glance he threw over his shoulder at her as he settled down. She leaned down and gave him a small kiss on the cheek when he glanced back at her, "I think I've long proven that I don't care about the scars, eh?" She smirked and went to her bag and rummaged through it quickly before she produced a small vial. She popped it open and pours some of the contents in her palm and rubbed her hands together. The room was filled with calming scents, lavender and aloe and other herbs, and once the oil warmed in her hands, she placed them on his back and began to massage slowly. She assumed he would probably fall asleep, he was exhausted after a full moon, and so she took her time. Her ministrations were firm but gentle as she worked through his tender muscles that were still adjusting to this new way of life. She didn't let her mind wander, instead she focused on how her hands moved, how his muscles felt under her touch. The scene and the feel of the oil wasn't just for him, it was to calm her uneasy spirit as well. Elle had no idea how long she massaged, but once her arms grew tired she eased off, rubbing his back softly before taking her hands off him. She corked the bottle and rubbed the remaining oil into her own skin. She sat down on the edge of the bed and settled her hand gently on his back and watched him, in silence, for a long time. Al gave a rather forced smile at her insistence that she didn't care about the scars - because it wasn't just how they looked, at least not to him. It was the reminder of what had happened and what he had to live with now. It was hard enough for him. He didn't really expect her to be okay with it. Not any more. But as the scent of the oil met his nose, he visibly relaxed. Her hands on his back, kneading and massaging away the stiff knots between his shoulders and around his neck almost forced the random low grunt of approval. For a moment, he could pretend that things were okay. Maybe he'd just had a long day at work and was in need of a massage before bed. And they certainly weren't in Godric's Hollow right now. It was her flat... a place he'd dared to call home. He would wake up energised and ready to defend his family and friends through the ideals he'd been taught were right. Maybe he'd catch lunch with Desmond, as well. And look forward to dinner with his parents when the weekend came. And with those thoughts, Al did finally drift off to sleep, looking quite a bit more content than he had any time in the past eight weeks. Tomorrow would come as a rude awakening for him. Elle quietly changed into pyjamas when she realised he was indeed asleep, and then slowly slipped into bed beside him. She couldn't let herself slip into the kind of illusions he had fabricated for himself... she was too cognizant and unable to just wipe away the truth. However, she was determined to make things right with him (or however right things could be), so she allowed herself to find that little nook where she used to curl up before, and after a few moments of coaxing herself that it was all right, she fell into a shallow sleep. He was dreaming relatively happy things when his usual nightmare started to invade. Walking to Desmond's. But at night. And the moon was full. There was a noise somewhere behind him, and he was in mid-turn when he heard the galloping thud of paws against concrete. And then she was on him. Again. Claws down his back, teeth in his shoulder. In his sleep, Al suddenly moved away from her, curling into a ball. A low whimper escaped his throat and a tremor ran through his muscles. In his dream, he was already on the ground and there were teeth tearing away at his stomach. Tears sprung into his eyes and he made another low noise in his throat, pulling himself into a tighter ball. The initial attack melted away, replaced by the memory of himself finding Desmond. Only this time he wasn't hanging from the ceiling. He was torn apart on the floor. On the bed, Al let out a sob, turning his face into the pillow. The moment he pulled away from her, Elle was wide awake. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she watched his form, a frown forming on her lips. She wasn't certain if she should say anything, do anything. But as the obvious nightmare continued, she knew she couldn't lay idly by. She wrapped a hand around his shoulder and rocked him gently, not wanting to jolt him, but needing him to break out of this, "Alastor." She frowned as the sob wracked his poor, exhausted body, "Alastor! Wake up! It's a dream. It's just a dream..." She hadn't considered this part. She hadn't considered the absolute mental torture he had to go through, and how it had to sneak up on him when he was most vulnerable. She pushed herself to sitting and then pulled him so he would curl in her lap, and she rocked with him, shushing him quietly, "Al, Alastor... it's okay. I'm here. You're okay..." Desmond on the floor, and when Al looked down at himself, blood covered his hands and he felt something warm trickling off his lip. In his dream, he went to wipe it off. When he looked at his sleeve, it was as red as his hands. He had done this. His fault. Alastor....just a dream He felt himself being pulled, shaken. Finally he snapped awake and he slowly came back to the room. His vision was blurred with tears and it felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest. Al sniffed, reaching up to wipe his eyes, not aware of how much he was shaking in her arms or just what was tumbling out of his mouth. "It was my fault," he stuttered, voice shaking with his tears. "S'my fault." She didn't know what to say. No, none of this was his fault. None of it. But she didn't know what had been in the dream, but if she thought about it for more than just a few minutes - it was painfully obvious. She ran her fingers through his hair and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. She left her lips there and shook her head, "No, Alastor... none of this is your fault. None of it..." Her voice wasn't as strong as she would have liked, but she, herself, was still uncertain. Uncertain how much he trusted her, and uncertain how much she trusted herself with him. She shifted and cupped his face in her hands, and forced him to at least face her and tried, at least, to catch his eye. "I know that you think this is your fault, Al. And I can see how you could think that. But it's not. None of it... okay? And if your mind is playing tricks on you, making you believe that it's your fault, then remember that it was a dream." She nuzzled her cheek against his hair, and held him close to her chest, "You're okay, angel. You're okay." Al could barely register her words. But her touch was calming and as her fingers tangled in his hair, he at least felt himself getting into some sort of control of his tears. He wiped at his eyes again and sniffed, melting into her touch. Shakes still wracked his body, but they weren't as violent as they'd been a moment ago. The shadows of his dream still flashed through his mind, but he was far more conscious now. Not his fault. How did she know? But he could hardly object, at least as her words washed over him. Just a dream. Just a dream. Al wrapped his good arm around her, holding himself to her chest. He listened to her heart, so much slower than his own was still beating. "I'm sorry," he said finally, muffled against her. "Nothing to be sorry for, Alastor," she said as she rubbed his back gently; her fingertips caressed across his shoulderblades. There was nothing else she could say, no other words she could speak. She couldn't possibly understand the pain he was going through, she could only attempt to be there for him. "Why don't I get a Dreamless Sleep Draught, and you try and get some rest, all right?" She leaned over and kissed his forehead gently, "I'll be here." Al only nuzzled closer, quiet again for a moment. Silently, he berated himself for forgetting. And letting her see. She wasn't supposed to see. But as the seconds passed, he worked harder and harder to push the nightmares out of his head. Not now. Not when she was right here. It seemed like he had to work so hard to get a few minutes with her these days. He wasn't about to waste it because he'd been stupid enough to forget his potion. "They're in the drawer next to you," he said finally, sounding more tired and beaten down than ever before. Elle rolled over and opened the drawer; she frowned when she saw the stock of vials in the drawer. In her naivety, she hadn't realized quite how bad this had gotten for him. However, she said nothing and merely snagged a bottle, uncorked it, and handed it to him, "Bottom's up." She settled him against her when he was through with it, and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She wasn't going to sleep much tonight - that much she could tell. Every movement of his would wake her, her worry overcoming her. And, strangely, it wasn't an unwelcomed feeling. Taking care of him made her feel better, feel closer to him... something she hadn't felt in a long, long time. Al sat up enough to drink the potion - it went down like water. He had no aversion to the taste, not any more. He didn't protest as she pulled him to her, for the moment, just relishing her being so close. He curled into her, resting his bandaged arm on her stomach and letting his eyes close. The chances of him fidgetting much in his sleep were rather slim, now that he had a potion in him. He was exhausted anyway, and the potions were intentionally stronger than anything he'd taken before all of this. He would sleep like a rock, feeling safer here and in her arms than he had in weeks. |