Atticus does not like people touching his things (attica) wrote in cm_logs, @ 2009-11-09 21:52:00 |
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Aludra's walk home had been seemingly interrupted by a bout of dizziness that she could only attribute to her poor eating and sleeping habits. Feeling rather embarrassed as she supported herself on a nearby wall, she attempted to gain her bearings and shake the feeling of disorientation consuming her -- there was no time for physical weakness, she had too much to do for this nonsense. Forcing herself to walk a few steps, she regained her balance, clutched at her purse, and continued on. Hyde Park. Her flat was only another ten minutes away, and she forced each foot in front of the other, feeling increasingly ill as she moved. Tomorrow she had lunch with Sirius and an article due. She also should schedule in a meeting to have placards finished. She needed to arrange a seating chart for the dinner. The number of things still to be done made her head ache, and she told herself that if she made it into the flat without incident, she'd allow herself a small measure of pain-relieving potion. Dinner still had to be made before Atticus came home. She checked her watch and frowned; she'd taken too long walking home. Damnit, how long had she been standing next to that wall? She frowned too at the choice of clothes she'd apparently made that morning. What in the hell had been going through her mind? She couldn't remember, and she didn't have time to make sense of it, not right now. Too much to do. Hurrying up the steps to her flat, she threw her things on the floor before remembering and picking them up again. Purse hung neatly, shoes tidily placed next to the door. Her first step was to the bedroom to change before Atticus caught sight of how she'd left the house -- and this luckily took only a few moments. Then to the bathroom to dig out a vial, which she drank down greedily, and then to the kitchen. With a look of irritation at a wilting plant, she quickly filled up a small cup in the sink and watered it, nearly indignant. How dare it look haggard at a time like this? Perhaps the flat had gotten too warm while she was at work. It seemed unlikely, given how chilly it was, but she was too distracted to pay the discrepancy much mind. No time. Chicken and rice were quickly retrieved from the refrigerator and pantry, and Aludra heated her hands over the stove before putting a pan down and removing her earrings. She had an hour before Atticus would likely be home, but she imagined he would be less than pleased if his supper wasn't ready. Perhaps, she thought grimly, she could set the chicken on fire and he could pick off the burnt bits. A fun thought, but she desired to get through the night without another fight. Atticus was still at the office, where he had been spending most of his time since Aludra's disappearance, when he felt his wand grow warm against his chest from where it was tucked into his robes. The signal that the alert ward he had set on Aludra's flat had been set off. He was immediately on his feet, the file he had been working on was almost haphazardly deposited into a drawer and he stopped only to lock his office before rushing through the Ministry, intent upon apprehending whoever was attempting to breach his fiancée's flat. It was only a matter of minutes before he was outside her door and he paused for a moment before slipping into the flat as quietly as possible, his wand held firmly in his hand. He did not, however, expect that it would be Aludra he found in the flat, preparing dinner as if nothing was the slightest bit amiss. Irritation flared as he stared at her, his wand still pointed at her back, almost dumbfounded by her actions. "Where have you been?" he demanded. The opening of the door did not go unnoticed, as the kitchen was not far enough away to give intruders any buffer before detection, but Aludra stirred only enough to check her watch. She had no doubt that it was Atticus, though the surprise at his earliness registered quite plainly on her face. Her sleeve fell back over the timepiece as she turned, spoon in hand, and stared at him, confusion tinged with the smallest mote of fear. "You're early," she began, wand hand hovering over the pot as she tried to guess the cause of his irritation. His question was all the more perplexing. Was he watching her flat so closely that he was concerned about the half hour walk she took home every day? Admittedly, today had taken closer to an hour, though she wasn't sure why -- but that level of control seemed beyond even Atticus. Didn't it? Well. "My walk took a little longer than usual. I'm sorry supper isn't finished yet," she went on, trying to mitigate what she assumed to be the impetus of anger. Atticus did not lower his wand, even as she turned and spoke and while he likely should have quickly pieced together that she had been obliviated, her casual response was instead read as an attempt to be dismissive of her disappearance. He knew she had not simply wandered off on her own - the anonymous correspondence he had received told him that much - and yet, he had a difficult time fathoming the notion that someone would kidnap her, only to return her seemingly unharmed. It did not make sense. "You have been missing for five days and your first concern is to return home and prepare supper?" he asked, rather incredulously. Although perhaps there should have been some measure of pride that she was so well trained. And then his brow furrowed as explanations beyond my fiancée is insane came to mind. If her abductors did not harm her, then perhaps their intention was instead to use her as a trap. "What is unseen upon your left forearm?" he asked to test her identity. Aludra's first response was to laugh -- not because what he said was especially funny, but because it was too ludicrous to be taken seriously, and because Atticus was far too severe a man for her to find anything but extreme discomfort in his taking to absurdity. And she was very uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable to actually laugh. Instead, a ghost of a smile curled at her lips while her eyes remained shadowed and concerned. Shifting on her feet, Aludra glanced back quickly enough to stir their supper and then returned her attentions to attempting understanding of his 'joke.' "Atticus," she began before interrupted by his question. Immediately, suspicion poured over her, and her mouth snapped shut before she thought to answer. He was serious. Very serious. And he clearly thought she was an imposter. Why? The notion of actually having been gone five days was too nonsensical to even be considered. No, she would remember if she'd taken so much as a step off her usual course from work to home. She would not be standing here cooking supper, or putting up with this nonsense. "Our Lord's sign," she said warily, setting down her spoon and turning the stove off. When she was facing him fully, she crossed her arms across her ribs. "What is going on?" Atticus relaxed only slightly as she gave her answer, confirming that she was, in fact, herself, although it still did not rule out a myriad of other possible explanations. But the tension he felt over her still-inexplicable disappearance and sudden return was now mixed with some sense of relief that she had returned and he stepped further into the kitchen. "I was rather hoping you would be able to tell me," he replied, giving a few slight flicks of his wand to check for tracking charms or other spells, as well as a finite incantatem. Not the most thorough of checks - and he would get to that soon enough - but it was enough to assure him of the absence of a trap for the time being. "It appears as if you have been obliviated. You disappeared last Wednesday, presumably on your walk home. The prevailing theory at the moment is that it was by the family member of one of the missing Muggleborns who blames the Ministry." He frowned and stepped still closer to her, lightly lifting her chin with his hand. "You are unharmed?" The hair on the back of her neck stood up as he pointed his wand at her, but she knew better than to argue or try and defend herself; she didn't know what he was doing, but she didn't feel anything but the occasional prickle of her skin and wasn't sure she wanted to know. So, silent she remained, though fear was beginning to crease her jaw and her mouth was quickly dipping down in her discomfort. Aludra didn't believe him -- couldn't believe him. How could she have been gone five days? She didn't remember anything. Obliviation was thorough, she knew, but... there was no but. If she'd had her memories erased there was nothing she would remember. Not even her abduction. Dazed, she leaned back into the counter, unconsciously moving away from his touch. "I don't know," she mumbled, and she didn't meet his eyes. This couldn't be true. He was lying. Or joking. Or some other sick game that didn't make any sense. "I can't have been gone for five days. I can't have." This was not exactly an area in which Atticus had much experience. How, exactly, did one convince someone that they'd had five whole days of their memory wiped clear? He rubbed his fingers across his forehead before looking at her, although he didn't try to touch her again, figuring he should likely allow her some space as she processed this news. "I assure you that you have. Today is Monday. There is a report filed with DMLE regarding your disappearance and numerous people who can attest to your absence. Regulus has been covering for you, both with your work and your wedding appointments. Your cousin, Mr Longbottom, has been handling the investigation and the Inner Circle and the Minister have been kept apprised of the situation." That brought another thought to mind and Atticus's frown deepened, but he would broach that subject only after she had time to accept what had happened as best as she could. Aludra looked stricken, and her first instinct -- which she acted on, having no room left for sense and logic, which had abandoned her at the first seed of belief that he was speaking the truth -- was to press her hands against her arms, to feel through her clothes, to see if she'd been... she didn't know. Touched. Bound. She had no idea how she would know if she'd been abused. A hundred worse possibilities writhed across her psyche, and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes as she forced herself not to acknowledge either the thoughts or the weakness. She couldn't cry now. She couldn't think about how she'd allowed herself to be abducted. How she hadn't been able to protect herself against an unknown assailant. "I have to change," she said with mechanical abruptness, fingers twisting against her shirt buttons. They were dirty. She was dirty. Five days with no idea what she had been through. But she didn't move. Not until she'd stared up at Atticus, eyes huge and furious and afraid. "Why?" Atticus did reach for her again, this time capturing her arm lightly in his hand to keep her from running away. As he moved closer to her, the telltale smell of cigarette smoke filled his nose and his brow furrowed, although he did at least realise that a lecture was rather pointless if she could not remember smoking. "I do not know," he replied honestly. "At first we thought it had something to do with Alice Longbottom's abduction, although that seems less likely. As far as I can tell, someone was attempting to use you to get to me, although it does not explain your sudden return. Unless, of course, they attempted to use you to obtain information." Which was obviously a rather disconcerting thought for the both of them, but Atticus was not one to coddle. "You need a shower." No, coddling that was not, for Aludra's fear intensified tenfold at the idea that she'd been used as an informant on the death eater activities. She'd be killed in an instant if that were the case, and there was nothing she or Atticus or anyone could (or would) do to stop it. The fact that it might have been related to Alice was blown from her mind, and all she could think about were the repercussions of her stupidity. She assumed it had to be her stupidity that allowed her to be captured, for she was not utterly incapable of defending herself. "I don't have defensive wounds," she replied numbly, as if she hadn't heard his shower comment. "Maybe they healed them." The other alternative was too unspeakable to mention, but it ran through her mind all the same. Would she have gone with anyone willingly? She couldn't have. She would never betray the cause. She might have had a doubt once or twice, but she was no traitor. She was loyal. And she didn't want to die. "If they did we'd... we'd never know what else they did." The words caught in her throat and she reached out to clutch at her fiancé for some sort of support that he certainly would never provide emotionally. Immediately her emotions drifted from sensible to self-pity. How could this have happened to her? It wasn't fair. But what was? "You will have to see Him," Atticus replied, although there was some gentleness in his tone. Although he was not afraid of the Dark Lord under most circumstances, even he would have some apprehension of going before him were he in Aludra's shoes so he could at least understand that the thought would be terrifying. And truthfully, he had his own concern over what her fate might be. That did not mean it did not have to happen, however. "If there is anyone who is able to restore your memories, even in part, it is Him," he added, in an attempt to show that he was not trying to punish her himself. Both of his hands were on her arms now, but truly he did not know what else to say. He was worried, and that was a rather unfamiliar and disconcerting feeling. He had been worried about her in her absence, but now even that she had returned, he was no more reassured. The tears threatening her now betrayed her completely, and Aludra wilted against Atticus's arms, and then against his chest. He had managed to say perhaps the worst thing she could have heard. She didn't want to see the Dark Lord. Not alone. Not when she might have been guilty of betraying him. It didn't matter how sure she was that she would never spill their secrets, the possibility was there, and she did not foresee him being merciful. "Please no," she begged, sobs muffled in his shirt, and right now she did not care about whatever petty repercussions there might be from mussing his things. He had to give in, he had to realise that this was not the right move. He had to take pity on her. It didn't matter if he was the Minister's advisor or one of his most devoted servants or a member of the inner circle. Right now she would beg as pitifully as she needed to to make him change his mind. "Please Atticus, please." Atticus remained silent for a long moment, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against his chest in a rare display of compassion, even as her tears soaked through his shirt and the distasteful smell of cigarettes continued to assault his senses. What could he say? That it would be all right? He would not lie to her. And it was not as if he could simply tell her that she did not have to see him. It was necessity, not cruelty, and if she thought rationally about it, she would see that. "If you do not see him of your own volition, he will summon you. And think that you are attempting to hide something from him. Whatever punishment is your fate, you do not wish to anger him further, Aludra. There is no other choice." He fell quiet for another long moment before speaking again. "If it is permitted, I will go with you." Aludra said nothing until the cries racking her lungs had faded into soft gasps. She shook her head at his attempts at reason, wanting to protest, wanting to say no and run away. She didn't know where. Just far from whatever responsibilities she had. Suddenly, planning a wedding seemed a mere pittance at having to face the Dark Lord with an unmitigated failure. Even Atticus's offered presence was no comfort. If their Lord was going to kill her, the presence of her fiancé wouldn't matter. There were no romantic fantasies of his stepping in to argue on her behalf, to save her. She knew better. Her breath was coming in horrible, rasped gulps, and she didn't move or speak for a long moment, knowing the only choice was to acknowledge her duty and agree to it. She had no other alternative. She'd chosen this life and now that the consequences had caught up with her, they seemed terrifying and real. Aludra had never thought she might get in trouble -- she'd never stepped so much as a toe out of line in her tasks. "I'm frightened," she gasped, fingers tightening into a fist around his shirt. Expecting Atticus to say something comforting was about as realistic as expecting kneazles to fly, but she hoped he would anyway. Willed him to. Had he known Aludra's fears that she might be killed, he would have at least attempted to assure her that was not likely. Which probably would not have been terribly reassuring, but regardless. Instead he assumed her fear was simply over being punished with the cruciatus or some other infliction of violence and that was not something he could comfort her over as he did not believe that some trite reassurance that everything would be okay was appropriate. Instead he simply continued to hold her, running his hand across her back. Just as she willed him to say something comforting, he willed her to stop crying as he was at a loss for how to handle this. And he was not intending to take Augustus's advice and stun her. "Our Lord's anger is a frightening thing to behold," he admitted honestly. "But you are far from the first to face it. And his punishments, as terrible as they may be, are not unendurable. I have faced them, as have many of the others, and we have emerged from them as better servants to his cause." Strangely, that particular attempt at comfort, poor as it was, was profoundly effective. Aludra's messy noises slowed to a stop, though she didn't pull away from him. That he was putting up with her touch was something to be exploited to its natural end -- and given her emotional state, she intended to extract every ounce of affection she could. She needed it. If Atticus had done wrong in the Dark Lord's eyes before, if others had, perhaps she was not as doomed as she feared. Her hands finally released his shirt and circled around to his back as she leaned more heavily on him. For all that she hated him at times, Atticus was one of the few people she trusted to take care of her. His position in the organisation was another benefit. Perhaps their Lord would show some small measure of mercy on her for his sake. Not likely, but she could hope. "You don't think he would kill me?" She asked, throat tight. A confused expression flickered across Atticus's face at Aludra's question. Killing her seemed quite excessive, even for a man who was not known for moderation in his punishments. Had she willfully disappeared and gone to reveal the secrets of the Death Eaters, then yes, but Atticus did not think that was the case here. After all, who in their right mind would send her back to certain death after she had done such a thing? "No, I do not believe he will kill you," Atticus replied. "I expect he will perform legilimency upon you, to ensure there is nothing you are concealing from him and to determine if there is anything in your memory to be restored. And then he will subject you to the cruciatus and perhaps a demotion in the ranks, depending upon what he sees in your mind." And, to be honest, to some degree his mood. Again, it was far from the most comforting thing he could say, but it was honest and direct. Relief flooded out over his shirt in a damp breath. She had endured the cruciatus before -- albeit at exceptionally less skilled hands -- and a demotion seemed of little importance given her position was not very high to begin with. That she could contribute to the cause was more important to her than whether she could order about other death eaters. To be frank, she was not the sort who ought to have been in any leadership position; her interest as a death eater was service only. The rest could squabble over the hierarchy. The legilimency was considerably more worrying -- not because she doubted her loyalty but because there were always worries and secrets that one kept from those one respected (and feared). But it was nothing. Aludra would have her life. She attempted to keep that in mind. And now it was time to change the subject. Pulling away from Atticus, she brusquely wiped tears from her face, though a few more took their place. "I don't feel injured," she said huskily. At some point in the future, Atticus might look back and wonder precisely how he had managed to apparently successfully console her, but for the moment he felt only relief that she was no longer sobbing and clutching his shirt and seemed to be returning to something at least vaguely resembling a state of normalcy. "Good," he replied, easily returning to his more natural brusque demeanour as he let her pull away, his arms falling back to his sides. "Nevertheless, I wish to be certain and you smell of cigarettes and week-old clothes. A shower is a necessity." Aludra's eyes flicked up towards him with a shadow of suspicious discomfort lingering beside them. She could check for herself, though she doubted that Atticus's insane need to control every second of her existence had been helped much by this alleged abduction. Though logically, she wished to continue believing that it was merely a possible explanation, her gut told her otherwise. She knew that something was wrong, and she knew that he was telling the truth about her disappearance. As she certainly hadn't wandered off for a mini-vacation, there was really only one explanation. She shied away from that truth, teeth gritting in protest. That protest never came to bear, however, for she knew better than to argue with Atticus. She especially knew better than to push him when he was obviously irate over the incident (already she was keen to separate herself mentally from the object of frustration). "Yes," she replied with perfunctory efficiency. Atticus gave a brief nod and his wand was once again in his hand, this time simply to deal with the beginnings of Aludra's dinner preparations so the chicken did not go to waste and the stove did not overheat. His palm was then pressed against her back as he guided her away from the counter and towards the hall to the bath. "I had attempted to keep word of your disappearance as quiet as possible, although certain developments made that rather impossible, I am afraid. I do not know who has noticed, but at some point you may wish to send word that you have returned safely. To your mother, at least." Aludra was led down the hallway without complaint, though there rose in her belly a familiar, yet poorly remembered, twist of fear. She didn't want to undress in front of him. She didn't want to be exposed. Not right now. The why was lost on her (displeasure at Atticus's previous "liberties" were too repressed to be bearing weight now), but she felt it strongly, the urge to resist. To say no. The discomfort of her ignorance at the impetus of this emotion was more disturbing than the impulse itself, and she hesitated near the bathroom door, some small resistance providing barely a hiccough in his ever pressing movement forward. She felt the unyielding insistence of his palm against her back and she was stepping foot upon the tile regardless of her instincts otherwise. "I can look for myself," she felt herself saying, as if the words were disconnected from her higher thought processes. Instantly she regretted it, though she said nothing to contradict herself. This felt wrong, and she knew better than to let her feelings impede whatever it as Atticus believed to be correct. That her mother knew was devastating, and she imagined their next meeting filled with accusations and criticism. It nearly made her wish she hadn't come back at all, but the shame she would have brought on her peers struck that thought from her psyche. "No," was Atticus's calm, simple response as he rolled the sleeve up on his shirt in several neat, precise folds before reaching to turn the shower on. Whatever compassion he possessed that might have swayed him into avoiding further discomfort on Aludra's part was outweighed by his need to reclaim control over this situation. That and from past experience, he knew all too well of her tendency to downplay physical injuries and in this instance, an inspection was not simply to ensure she was unharmed, but also to see for himself if there was anything that might serve as an indication of what had happened to her. If she had truly been returned without so much as a mark upon her body, it did lend credence to the theory that her abduction had been for the purposes of information, as disconcerting as that thought was. None of this, however, was explained to her as he rolled the sleeve of his shirt back down to his wrist and began undoing the buttons of his own shirt. The garment was folded and neatly set on the vanity before he turned to his trousers, leaving Aludra to address her own clothes, or at the very least giving her the opportunity to do so. She was glad he had turned away, for it seemed impossible to keep the growing discomfort from smearing over her features. It wasn't as if this was an entirely new situation. His demands to tend to her after training were frequent enough, even if she was not stupid enough to believe that it was out of any sense of love. Aludra was intelligent enough to understand her purpose in this relationship, and she rarely fought it -- though there was something eternally demeaning about existing purely as the release for someone's insurmountable need for control. Still, she had some remnant frustration that her body was her own, that she could determine whether or not she required aid, and being treated like a child only added to the unfamiliar pit in her stomach that seemed to demand more and more attention as the minutes marched on. She turned away from him, unbuttoning her blouse and skirt, and then attending to her undergarments; even when she'd finished, after taking as much time as allowable, Aludra did not turn back to face him. Instead, she took a few seconds to examine what she could of herself -- some attempt to retain the smallest breath of control. It was rare that Atticus acknowledged any discomfort on Aludra's part, or at least any discomfort that was his doing, but in this instance he was somewhat perplexed at the way she seemed to shy away from him. Then again, learning that five days of your memory were gone was undoubtedly a rather traumatising experience and he could not blame her for feeling amiss. Well it was not as if he could do anything to restore her memories and therefore there was nothing to be done at all but press forward. Perhaps a calming draught and a cup of tea after the shower. His clothes all neatly piled upon the vanity, he took a moment to inspect her back for any sign of recently healed injuries but there were none that he could see. A frown creased across his face. It was not that he particularly wished to see evidence that his fiancée had been harmed, but in this instance, it was preferable to the alternative. His hand fell lightly to her shoulder. "There is no reason to let the water go to waste." Her spine rippled at the touch but she said nothing, feeling uncomfortably exposed. His hand rested over the faint marks of where his fingers had been, considerably firmer, nearly a week ago, and she looked at them -- at him -- with a silent sort of unease. Something felt very wrong, and only because she knew it was utterly illogical did she force herself through familiar motions. She was at home and safe and devoid of any memory of wrong. She did not seem to have been abused. The greatest fear in her life now was the Dark Lord, and nothing else. She had no reason to resist. With this flurry of thoughts in mind, she stepped back, closer to his chest, to try and glean some affection that was not there, and then moved to the shower. The hot water hit her hard and fast, and Aludra grimaced beneath it in an all too familiar reaction. Atticus followed her into the shower, his frown still spread across his lips as he continued his silent, visual examination of her body. "You are certain nothing feels amiss? This is not the time for false bravado, Aludra. I presume you would rather avoid inspection by a healer, but I will take you to St. Mungo's if I feel it is necessary." He took the soap and began washing her, although his movements were somewhat less efficient than usual as his fingers ran across her back in search of any feeling of a raised scar or any point of contact that might elicit pain. And truthfully, in part, simply to reclaim what was his. Aludra's voice caught in her throat and she simply shook her head. The only thing that was amiss was his inability to allow her the possession of her own body after such a startling revelation. As if it wasn't enough to be completely ignorant of what it had suffered the last five days, he was now removing any ownership she had over herself. She found no comfort in the press of his fingers across her spine, down over her ribs, though they were gentle. He could have been examining any piece of property for error -- and while normally she found it an acceptable fact of life, tonight she was bothered. "I'm fine," she said, voice nearly drowned out by the rush of water in its half-hearted protest. There was a nod and an non-committal sound from Atticus's throat as he moved then to wash her front and continue his inspection. Then her arms and her legs, until no expanse of flesh was left untouched and he replaced the soap in its rightful place. Fine did not seem to be an accurate description of her state, although physically it was true enough as far as he could tell. And regardless of what her anonymous captor had said, he could see no sense in kidnapping her for the purpose of securing the release of the Muggleborn prisoners, only to release her without having secured their objective. Unless they had somehow lost the stomach for their own actions? It was a possibility at least, if an unlikely one. And if she had been interrogated, it could explain the insistence that he was a murderer, although truly it had been some time since he had actually killed anyone. But Aludra would know that he had... There was no point to these ponderings, he decided. It was not as if she would be able to answer any of his questions and aside from taking steps to ensure that such a thing could not happen to her again, there was nothing to be done but allow their Lord to handle matters. "Yes, well. I am pleased that you have been returned safely and unharmed," he said, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead before leaving her in the shower to retrieve their towels, one of which was held open for her after he had wrapped his own around his waist. She stepped into the towel, still feeling like a child, and let him wrap it around her with a complacence that felt unnatural -- but she was realising that she was tired. After the adrenaline of horror had worn off, she was left exhausted, from days forgotten without sleep. A look at herself in the mirror seemed all too telling of her weariness; darkness under her eyes was punctuated with what could only be described as a look of defeat. Nothing of the next few days would bring her any relief. "Are you really?" she asked quietly, finally addressing Atticus's passing comment. She found it difficult to believe, given the likely duress her apparently motiveless abduction must be causing. She wasn't stupid. She knew that her unscathed appearance made her seem culpable. She wondered if he believed it. Her question prompted a curious glance as he kept one arm wrapped around her and reached for a calming draught with the other. The cork was manoeuvred off with his thumb and forefinger before he held the small vial out to her and only then answered her question with a simple, "Yes." Perhaps he was underestimating her, but the thought that she might have been culpable had been long-since dismissed, even in the face of her uninjured state. Perhaps if it had not been for his conversations with the anonymous owl-sender, he would have doubted her. Likely, in fact. But he knew quite well that it was possible to abduct someone without leaving any physical trace, particularly someone Aludra's size and it was simply something that would have to be addressed in their training. And while he was displeased with the apparent state of things, there were at least fewer (if barely) unanswered questions now that she was back. And well, he had been concerned for her. Again, not that he intended to share as much. "You should sleep." Aludra curled her palm around the vial and considered it with resigned apathy. Of course she would sleep. There was no need to discuss how she felt violated and disoriented. That might involve feelings and those did not come up in polite conversation. Or even impolite conversation, particularly where Atticus was concerned. With a wry amusement that fell across her numb insides, she confessed that at least Atticus was allowing her to drink the medicine herself, rather than forcing it down her throat, as he'd done before. It wasn't his fault. He was how he was. She was -- she didn't know what she was. Confused and alone. "Thank you," she finally said. It was the correct response, and she returned the vial once emptied. "You have work, still, I assume?" It wasn't the real question, but she was too tired to ask it. "Not tonight," Atticus replied as he took the empty vial and deposited it in the garbage before gently urging her towards the bedroom. There were still things to be done - there were always things to be done - but remaining with her was a concession he was willing to make to her distress. No, he did not wish to talk about feelings, but he could allow her to curl up beside him and find some measure of comfort that way. "I spent much of the weekend at the Ministry," he explained, which was true, although only half of that time was spent focusing upon his actual responsibilities. It was still enough that he was well ahead of schedule on his projects for the week. "I hope Regulus enjoyed himself while picking out flowers," Aludra replied dryly, an unspoken frustration at how behind in her own schedules she would be, regardless of how little sleep poor Regulus must have had these last few nights. She changed into her night things, freezing for a second at the sight of the ugly clothes she'd stripped off and forgotten nearly an hour ago. She shoved these behind the hamper with her foot and lapsed back into calm with the help of the quickly acting potion. She could worry about them in the morning. Her journal was retrieved so she could read it as she fell asleep, and after a few tired scribbles of her quill under wards she was relieved Atticus could not read, she let it fall to her side and curled up around her fiancé, willing her dreams to wipe away what little of the day she could remember. |