Kingsley "Too Soon" Shacklebolt (shackalack) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-02-28 01:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-02] february, elle abercrombie, kingsley shacklebolt |
Who: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Elle Abercrombie
When: 27 February, 1980. Late at night after Caradoc breaks the news.
Where: Gairloch Campsite.
What: Kingsley informs Elle of the bad news.
Rating: PG
Status: Complete.
Kingsley Shacklebolt knocked rapidly on the door to Elle's barrack, a funny feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He waited a moment, tapping his foot impatiently and then knocked again. No answer. Either she wasn't in the room or she wasn't answering him, and either were perfectly reasonable explanations as of late. He sighed and knocked one more time before giving up and heading outside. He knew that she had been avoiding nearly everyone since... well almost since they'd come to Gairloch and especially since Greyback demanded she turn herself in to him, and he'd been rather worried about her. But now it was urgent he talk to her, and he decided that if she wasn't someplace outside, he would break into the room. It was late and she might be sleeping, but this was important enough. Luckily for him, after exploring the common rooms in both barracks, all eight bathrooms (and Amycus gave him a weird look for that) and the kitchen, he found her sitting on top of a larger headstone. "Elle." Elle had been avoiding people, yes, but since the death of Millicent, Elle had barely even spoken, not unless she had to. She spent her time pouring over books, sleeping in her room, running, or sitting in the abandoned graveyard. She'd found solace in this place, and since all she tended to want these days was to be alone, the quiet stillness among the headstones suited her just fine. She heard the footsteps long before she saw Kingsley, but she immediately recognized the deep tones of his voice. She was going to wave him away, but she sensed there was something grounded, something... wrong. "Kingsley?" She turned her head toward him, her eyes searching his. She wasn't sure if she could take any more bad news. "I. Um." He didn't know how to start, he didn't know how to say it. He looked at her and couldn't see her journal, so he was sure she didn't know. He'd been almost asleep himself when he found out, opening his journal by chance and- He had stop stalling. "I - erm. Got some bad news." His voice was weak and soft and he choked on his words. "It's Meaghan..." Elle's fair skin blanched even further. Not Meaghan. Not her dear friend. No, she hadn't talked to her in awhile, but Elle hadn't talked to anyone in awhile. She looked away from Kingsley to mask the fact that she was on the verge of tears, and looked down at her folded hands. "Let me guess," she said, her voice dark and verging on the edge of cold, "She's dead." Elle didn't want it to be true. It couldn't be true. But what else was she to believe now? She knew her friend was a target, and without the proper DMLE to protect her... Kingsley didn't say anything at first, instead he just moved so that he was behind Elle on her headstone and enveloped in a gigantic hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Dearborn said- he said-" He couldn't do it, he couldn't manage to get his words out. "It's in the journal." Denial. She had foolishly wanted him to tell her she was wrong, that Meaghan was fine but just wanted to talk to her. But... no. Instead, he had his arms around her and only confirmed her fears. She tried, for a moment, to nod her head and slide out of his grasp. At least, in her head she tried. Instead, her hands went to his arms, and without much warning, began to sob. Her chest hurt, her heart hurt, and she gripped onto Kingsley as the gut-wrenching sounds escaped from her throat. She couldn't even speak, only use Kingsley's arms to keep her from tumbling to the ground and curling up in the mud. Kingsley squeezed her tighter, keeping her on the headstone. It was slightly odd for him, giving one of his "Kingsley-hugs," for the person inside to not be struggling to get out like Gina so often did, but he didn't notice it at all. He buried his face in her shoulder, content to just stand there for a while, consumed in grief. Elle didn't know how long she sobbed, the sounds of grief being swallowed by the headstones, the trees, and the night. She gasped for air, her throat raw and her stomach sore from the violence of her cries. She was supposed to protect her friend, to care for her. She had failed. And now Meaghan was... Meaghan was... "Not-- Merlin..." Elle shook her head, "Meaghan... goddamnit." She choked out the words, unable to eloquently verbalize the grief for one of her dearest friends. Kingsley let go of Elle, finding that his back was slightly sore from bending over for such a long time, but he kept hold of her hand, squeezing it. It was cold outside, he suddenly realised, and he'd come out without his jacket. "We should go inside," he said miserably, though he didn't really want to go back to his room and be alone with his thoughts and his journal right then. "I've... I've still got some scotch left," he offered. She gripped his hand and leaned her head against his chest. No, they had never been particularly close - but they had both been particularly close to Meaghan. And Elle wasn't sure how much more of this death and destruction she could take. She needed to lean on someone, and apparently had subconsciously chosen Kingsley for this task. She nodded, not aware of the cold but cognitively knowing if she didn't go inside now she'd be susceptible to fall ill. That was the last thing she needed; she was still stiff from her injuries nearly 2 months prior. She slid off the headstone and followed Kingsley's lead, only mumbling hoarsely, "Scotch would be nice." The scotch was in his room in the barrack, and so just a few moments later he was rummaging through his trunk, looking for the good one. "You can come in," he said casually. "Ah, 'ere it is." Elle came in, glad they didn't come across anyone else; she didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, at least not anyone other than Kingsley. She went into his room when he beckoned her and closed the door after her. She settled on the bed and looked at him (and the scotch), her eyes a bit glassed over. She ran her hands up her face and rubbed her eyes under her glasses, and took them off. She set them on the very foot of the bed, and looked up at the hazy form of Kingsley. "Out of the bottle, then?" she said, the scotch welcomed... though it did remind her of Meaghan. Tears began to well again, and she looked at the ceiling. "Merlin's left tit, I can't believe she's gone." Kingsley nodded and sat down next to her on the bed, careful of her glasses, and scooted all the way back so that he was sitting up against the wall. He didn't know quite what to say to her, so he just patted her on the knee. He took the cap off the bottle and held it up. "To Meaghan McCormack, who's always said I was a terrible snog but liked me anyway." He took a swig and passed it to Elle. "Your turn." She laughed at his toast and took the bottle from him. She took a swig of the sharp liquid and exhaled a sharp breath. "To Meaghan McCormack, the only Scot who could scare even me," she said and took another swig before handing the bottle to Kingsley. Kingsley took the bottle and put it to his lips, then stopped. He wanted to say more. "To Meaghan, who was by far a better Quidditch player than I was back at Hogwarts, though I'd never admit it to her." Elle's eyes filled with tears... it was strange and horrible to be talking about one of her dearest friends in the past tense. Was everyone she cared about going to die and leave? Why was she still alive? What did she have to offer that Meaghan didn't? Meaghan was good and kind and was a sort of strong Elle couldn't even comprehend. Meaghan had persevered after all that had been thrown at her, and Elle... Elle had dissolved into a cynical mute. "To Meaghan," she said, her voice cracking with emotion, "who was stronger than all of us combined." Kingsley was silent a moment, his face stony. He didn't ever cry, but that certainly didn't mean he wasn't upset. His feelings just brewed someplace inside of him, twisting his stomach up and choking his voice. Guarding her on and off with Elle for over a month seemed almost pointless now that they had gotten her anyway. He didn't want to think about how the outcome may have been different had they still been watching out for her. "To Meaghan," he said quietly, "with her astounding wit and a smile that never faded." He took a large swig of the scotch, feeling warmth as the liquid ran down his throat and passed the bottle back. "You will never truly die." Elle took the bottle and took a generous amount of the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed and stared at the bottle before drinking more. "But she is dead, Kingsley," she said softly, "She, and Mill, and Al, and Benjy, and Fabian, and Gideon, and Edgar... they're all dead." She took another small swig and then handed the bottle over, "Dead and either buried or just gone, and what the fuck are we fighting for anymore? There aren't going to be any of us who believe any of what they're doing is wrong if we keep going like this." This was good, strong scotch and Kingsley had already had a number of large swigs, but since they'd all been in such a short period of time, he didn't quite realise yet how much he'd had. "We're fightin' for the future," he took the bottle back and took another sip. "An' to avenge them all." "But... but what future? There... ah, fuck it-" she took back the bottle and stole another swig. "Meaghan would bloody kill me-" she paused, knowing that wasn't the best way to phrase it, "-if she knew I was being like this." Elle's eyes filled with tears again and she leaned on Kingsley and handed him back the bottle. She began to cry again, softer than before, but steadily. "I don't know," she hiccuped and wiped away her tears, "I don't know how much more of this I can take." Kingsley wasn't entirely sure what to do and things were starting to get slightly fuzzy, so he awkwardly patted Elle on the shoulder and then began rubbing her arm to comfort her. "Shhh," he said, putting the bottle back up to his mouth. He didn't want to think about it anymore, but he couldn't stop. "You're strong, Elle. Real strong." Elle shook her head, but found his reassuring touch comforting. She sighed and brought her knees up to her chest, "I'm alive by chance and luck. And I used to think I was strong, but fuck if all of this death and destruction hasn't torn me to shreds," she went to snag the bottle and missed once before snatching it and taking another swig. She gave the bottle back to him and then curled into his chest, desperate for some sort of warm comfort. She laid there against his chest for a few moments before she sat up, her cheeks a bit pink as she blushed, "I'm sorry," her words a bit mushy, "I shouldn't make you... y'know... deal with my crazy." "Yeah, s'all right," he replied, realising as he reached for the bottle back that he was feeling a little drunk - they had drank a considerable portion of the scotch after all. He didn't want to say he understood that she got more emotional because she was a woman, nor did he want to mention that she'd lost a lot lately - it would be like rubbing salt in the wound. "I'm here for you." Elle looked at Kingsley with a new light - it was strange. He didn't say 'I'm sorry' or any of the cliche things that made her want to rip out her hair. Yes, Kate had told her that she was always around if Elle needed anything, but Kingsley's statement seemed... different. She didn't know why. Maybe in her near-drunken state she just wanted it to be different, but right now she wasn't going to analyze it. Instead, she settled back to where she had been, her cheek pressed against his chest, her hand settled lightly over his heart, "Thanks," she said lightly and closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm here for you too, you know." They'd both lost someone important to them, and Elle wasn't wallowing in self-pity enough to forget that fact. "Mmmhm." He was glad, but being a bloke (and still a young bloke with a habit of needing to defend his masculinity at times) he didn't want to make a big deal about needing anyone. Nothing could really compare to having his family back around, he suddenly realised that maybe having a Gairloch-family would be pretty all right. Well, only if it weren't for the damned leak. He looked down at Elle, hoping to Helga it wasn't her, then pushed the thought from his mind. He gave her arm a quick, reassuring squeeze and ruffled her hair a bit. "Thanks kiddo." Elle laughed and poked him in the side, "Kiddo? I'm your elder, kid - you should respect me as such. Something like that." She laughed again and ran her hands through her hair to straighten it out and then flopped back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, "I miss my bed. It was so comfortable." She patted the spot on his bed next to her and motioned, "Lay with me, Shacklebolt. I'm tired." Whew, normally she was pretty good with holding her liquor, but with the little she'd been eating lately, apparently she'd lost her touch. "Dunno, I uh-" he searched for the words in his slightly inebriated state. "I'm taller than you?" he offered, the conversation starting not to matter too much anymore. She beckoned him to join her lying down and though he hesitated a moment, knowing the gentleman-y thing for him to do was to take the floor, he immediately dismissed the notion. Whether it was the fact that he was a (barely) 22 year old man, he didn't want the floor, the scotch, the knowledge that they would just be innocently sleeping or any combination of the four, he decided it didn't matter too much and laid down next to her, suddenly feeling ridiculously tired himself. "G'night kiddo," he said again for kicks, wrapping his arm around her waist and shutting his eyes. Elle hadn't been held while she slept since before- well. It had had been a few months. For a brief moment it filled he with sadness, but at the repetition of the word kiddo the grief lifted and she playfully smacked him. She curled against him, tired from the grief, the liquor, and truthfully, from the past 7 months. It was comforting for the first time in a long time to feel... safe. |