meaghan mccormack is a wrecking ball of love. (secretheart) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-01-25 20:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-01] january, caradoc dearborn, meaghan dearborn (née mccormack) |
whom Caradoc and Meaghan.
where Their cottage in Ireland.
when Evening, 25 January, 1980.
rating PG-13.
synopsis They fight but keep from ripping each others heads off. A sort-of resolution is reached.
Anger (mixed with equal parts shock and sorrow) boiled through Caradoc's veins as he stuffed enough meagre belongings in his bag so as to leave the house as little changed as possible. He would not - even though Meaghan did not seem to even know him - he could not - make their lives any more difficult than that which they already experienced. He didn't know if this would be permanent; with his shoulder thrown into the old canvas satchel that had seem him through so much, he left the bedroom and walked quickly down the stairs to reach the coat closet. Opening it quickly, almost blindly, he reached in and found his old wool pea coat. He had his hat on his head and was, as quick as he could, winding his scarf around his neck. A stop at his mother's house and an explanation of what had happened would be necessary before he could go back to the flat in London. It seemed, at that moment, that it was all he could think of. Missing Meaghan already while instantaneously not wanting to see her, he just wanted to sleep. Picking up his satchel and shutting the closet, he headed for the door. The anger boiling inside her stomach told her to let him leave--why shouldn't she, she was going to go anyway? It was with no small amount of rage that she picked up a mug that had once held his morning tea from the table and hurled it against the wall, eyes narrowing in satisfaction as it shattered. Her anger infinitesimally assuaged, she then slammed her fist against the table, trying to work out the black fury through physical exertion. A moment, and then she remembered, put a hand on her still-flat belly--she couldn't, she wouldn't let herself lose control. Standing again, she quit the living room at the sound of him rustling about in the hallway, pulling his things from the closet. Hot tears stung her eyes as she thought of the haste with which he was leaving--he couldn't wait to get out of there. He wasn't supposed to leave, he was supposed to swallow his infernal pride and apologize and fight for her to stay. Leaving was the coward's choice. She blocked his pathway to the door, her eyes taking in his satchel, his pea coat, hat and scarf, the expression on his face. They showed an equal mixture of pain and frustration. If he was going to leave he was going to do it with her eyes on his back, not skulking out like a thief in the night. Stopping dead in his tracks, he took some time to let his gaze rake over her face. Did he see loathing there, was hatred present in the furrowing of her brows? He shrugged. He would not apologise for doing what he felt in his heart was right. "The wards will reset themselves, so you needn't worry about keeping up with them." No matter how angry he made her, she could never hate him. Her free hand settled on her hip, her other still resting unconsciously on her belly, as if she might protect the child from hearing what they would say to one another. "I suppose I get the house in the divorce, then?" She asked, her voice thick with her untamed brogue, cracking with emotion despite her futile attempts to control herself. Keeping a mean retort between his clenched teeth about their marital status, he arched a brow and settled the satchel more comfortably on his shoulder. He wouldn't be drawn into her fight. He didn't want to fight. "The wards will reset themselves." "If you're warding yourself out then I assume that means you're leaving for good?" She asked, the hand on her hip tightening to keep from reaching upward to dash away the traitorous tears she felt readying to fall. He had to deny it, he had to say he would stay. She loved him, they had a child--two children, really. After all she had done to break down his walls, to make him see that he could love and be loved again, it couldn't end like this. This ending wasn't worthy of what they had together. "I'm not warding myself out. I'm just telling you that you don't have to reset them everyday. They're charmed to take care of that themselves." Why would she ask him that unless she wanted him to leave permanently? It was a question he dare not broach as he stood there, facing her with a face full of unflinching and unashamed sorrow. He did not want to leave but he would not stand in the way of her safety. She looked down, running her hands through the wild tangle of her hair, feeling her vitality drain from her body. She couldn't handle the impossible knot of her emotions, the anger, the guilt, the sorrow. Especially the sorrow. How could she ask him to stay without losing her pride? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to know the right thing to do. " ... if you need anything - anything - you know where to find me," he said, with some strength left in his voice until he took a step forward and felt the emotion emanating from her body. What did she want from him, what more did he have to give? "I hate this, Meaghan, I do." She met his eyes, her own now undeniably wet. Shaking her head, she forced the words out--she had to say something. "I should be able to find you here. If you hate this then don't go." The satchel fell from his hands as ate up the ground between them in two steps and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His lips, pressed against her ear, were cold with fear that he had misheard her. Her hands slid inside his coat to wrap around his waist, holding on to him like a lifeline. Her forehead came to rest against his shoulder, tears making a damp stain on the wool. "I am very angry at you." She said, though she showed no signs of letting him go. "You most certainly can be," he murmured, bringing his hand up to comb soothingly through her wild raven locks. "But I want you to see that if I was anything other than what I am, you wouldn't love me. I couldn't stand me if I didn't act." She pulled back enough to meet his eyes again, her face showing frustration now more than raw anger. "And I want you to see that acting doesn't mean volunteering for every suicide mission that comes your way, and it certainly doesn't mean you can do something that dangerous without talking to me about it first. You're not the eternal bachelor anymore, Irish. You have people in your life who depend on you being around. Do you know how destroyed I would be if something happened to you? Did you think about me having to tell Kirley that he had lost another parent?" Wincing in her arms - the words, as sharp as daggers - he gently extricated himself and began to put his coat away. "I will promise to talk to you about the possible dangers involved with the Order if you will promise to trust me when I tell you that nothing will happen." She showed a kind of animal fear when he pulled away from her, which subsided from her face when he went to the closet to put his coat away. At least now they were at the point where they could argue without things escalating beyond reason. "Caradoc, you can't say for certain that nothing would happen." "And you can't live your life in fear that something will while the world burns around us," he said in his most reasonable voice as he turned from the closet and took her elbow to slowly draw her into the living room. "I most certainly can. I have things to protect, I can't just go recklessly into whatever bit of evil needs investigating because of my loyalty to a group who has never done anything to keep me safe. You are my family, not them. And you would be incensed if I walked into the viper's nest to test a theory without talking to you about it first. There is a difference between fighting the fight when it threatens you and poking a bear with a stick to see if it stirs." She allowed herself to be led, keeping herself close to him. Gently pressing her into an overstuffed chair, he pulled up an ottoman to sit opposite her. Gathering her hands in his, he shook his head slowly. "Meg, I am not going to budge on this. I understand how you feel and I will talk to you in the future but I am not going to ask for permission." She extricated on hand to make a fist, thumping it against his thigh for emphasis. "Then I suppose I don't need to ask your permission to walk into the lion's den either? Excellent, then I'm going to Rodolphus Lestrange's house tomorrow to see if he wants tea. I promise I'll be fine." "Ow!" was a hiss as he shook his head at her. "Now that's just ridiculous and by no means comparable." "Says you. But what if Lestrange had been there when you went to register? And what if you had been found out and they took you away? I would have had no idea where you were!" "Lestrange doesn't know what I look like, for one. For two, I would have gotten word and for three they wouldn't have been able to take me." He was confident. Sometimes too confident. "But can we just leave it there? It's done and I'm rather tired of discussing it." She passed her free hand over her eyes, trying to soothe away her irritation. His nobility was dear to her and she admired that quality in him, but this foolhardy recklessness couldn't stand. "If it was ten of them versus one of you? Twenty? I don't doubt you, my love, but you walked in to their territory, alone. Outnumbered. We can stop discussing it when you realize that you are not invincible. They took down the entire Ministry in one day." Sighing, he leaned further over her and caught her chin in the palm of his hand. "I know I'm not invincible," was soft. "I will be more careful if that will please you." "It's taken you a week to realize you want to please me?" She asked, her mouth a soft smile of resignation, knowing that this was the best she could ask of him. A gentle kiss was all the answer he would give her. This was far from over; he would not be kept from doing his part to further the Order's cause but he would, for the love he bore her, think more critically before leaving off telling her about potential dangers. "I'm very sleepy." "I've been told I have that effect on men." "Let's go to bed." She nodded, standing as she tugged on the hand still in hers to bring him to his feet. She knew it was only a matter of time before they had this fight again, but perhaps next time they could keep from things escalating to the dangerous place they had reached tonight. Threading her fingers through his, she realized how bone-tired she felt, and how much she wanted nothing more than to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, with his body curled around hers and his hand on her stomach, where it hadn't been for several nights now. |