Doc is expressively challenged. (docisarock) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2009-10-11 23:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | caradoc dearborn, charity burbage |
RP Log: Doc and Charity
Who: Doc Dearborn, Charity Burbage.
When: 8 October, 1979. Night.
Where: Heathrow Airport and then somewhere quiet.
What: It's about damn time they started talking. :X
Rating: PGish.
Status: Complete!
There had been a sense of underlying madness at the Ministry, and Charity felt awkward that she knew what it was all about, despite not being connected to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in any way. Not wanting to raise any suspicions, she'd simply gone about her business until noon when she'd gone home. No sooner had she walked in the door, but the shock-wave of the DMLE leak getting to Avery, Florence Corner (the poor woman), and what to do about Jonathan Corner had awaited her. A few hours later, Jonathan Corner had a new identity and new baggage to take with him on his way out of the country. Charity had done all that she could think of, to help him. He'd been one of her kids a long time ago, and it broke her heart to see him in such a state. Charity, herself, couldn't imagine the pain he was going through, and after seeing him off at his gate at Heathrow airport -- and making sure the plane took off -- she dropped her gaze to the ugly, scratched tile before turning to Doc. "I think I need some quiet. And some peace. If you've got either of those handy, it'd be much appreciated," she told him quietly. But at least she didn't feel useless. She'd gotten to help - as much as any of them could - and saw the heartbroken Mr Corner off. There were flocks of people congregating all over, milling around, waiting. They wouldn't stand out in the crowd at all, but the reason they had to be in that airport in the first place seemed to divide Doc and Charity off from the rest of the people. At least, that was what was weighing down on Doc the most as he walked alongside Charity, away from the terminal though which they had left Jonathan Corner to be on his way. 'Good Merlin' barely summed it up. Earlier in the day Corner was a married man with a son on the way. Now he was off, alone, and he hadn't even his identity to keep for his own. That didn't even count the memories Doc had lifted from his mind, which simply didn't exist any-more. And, there had been some words of attempted optimism, but Doc had the feeling that Jonathan was nodding if only in appreciation for the try. Then he was gone. "Not on me at the moment," Doc returned as they pushed through a set of doors leading outside. "But I know a place. Over here, all right?" It was an alcove in the structure, but it was out of sight. Not a soul noticed how that same spot was empty mere moments later. Doc released his hold on Charity, stepping back enough to survey the new area. There was a path through the tall grass, and then an immense expanse of nothing all around save for the random bit of nature and a tuft-covered dune that the path sneaked up and over. The sound of mild crashing suggested water nearby -- over that slight climb -- and Doc nodded in that direction. "Just the shoreline. Stereotypical, I know, but no one ever comes out this way, and it's not the wilderness." "It's a good thing I like stereotypes," Charity replied amiably enough. Only hesitating for a few seconds, she reached over and took Doc's hand as she began the climb. She stayed silent most of the way, lapsing into her thoughts from before. Florence Corner, in all likelihood was dead. No longer a mother-to-be. No longer... anything. Charity thought about her own mother's lifeless face, and wondered when Florence would be found. If she would. Gavin Avery's murder, to be honest, was something that Charity was glad for. Yes, she wanted the information he likely held (after all, why would they kill him if he had nothing?), but he was a Death Eater, and he could have been in on her mother's raiding party. He could have been the one to torture her, could have been the one who cast the Killing Curse. Deep down, she wanted her revenge. She wanted them all to suffer the way she had, even if she wasn't strong enough to do it herself. And then, poor Jonathan Corner whose only fault was falling in love with a pureblood witch and "turning" her against her family. When she spilled her brother's secret, Charity knew down to her core that it would not end well. After all, they'd killed people for less, hadn't they? At least Caoimhe had gotten there in time to spare his life. But had they really spared it? The waves crested on the horizon in sprays of white and blue-green, and Charity couldn't help but say, "If something happened to you, I wouldn't leave. I'd find whoever hurt you, and I'd make them pay." Big words coming from a woman who couldn't best a single person at the Order duelling practises, which clearly meant it was a suicide mission she'd go on. "I'm not the strongest dueller, and I wouldn't expect to survive. In fact, I'd rather not. Not if something happened to you." Doc eased his fingers into Charity's, as she took his hand. For so simple and small a gesture, the fact was that he'd gone through enough rough news without that touch. It held its own wealth of comfort just in the reassurance that Charity was here with him, and actually here. He knew well enough that they had both presented the other with shells more often than not in the past few years, trying not to get close. Stupid, really. But Doc had accepted the mistake, and tried to look at the present for what it was. The future was another story, but she was with him now, and he was walking beside her, listening carefully over the sounds of the ocean and the light wind through the grasses. He looked over at her as she finished, momentarily considering the words. Essentially, she would rather die. There were a lot more words spoken than that, but Doc could discern. "I want to tell you that I wouldn't stand for it, but --" He shook his head. "I'd do the same. Who am I to talk?" "I don't know if that makes us incredibly loyal or incredibly stupid," Charity admitted, sinking to her haunches before dropping the short distance to the sand. She drew in a deep breath of salty air and shook her hair out. The wind could serve as her headband for now. Charity grabbed a handful of spiky grass, plucking it from its hold and breaking off bits to toss in the wind behind them. "I just keep thinking about that poor girl. I know there's nothing official on whether or not she's -- but it's -- if they killed her brother..." She found herself leaning against Doc's shoulder. "She was younger than I was when when we met. Gone." "Two of kind," Doc agreed. He followed Charity's lead, taking a seat, and not at all minding how the sand was already getting into his shoes. "Either way you'd like to look at it, and I'd say there's a bit of both at work here." He gave a shrug. "But at least we can admit it." Against Charity's weight, Doc leaned a bit back to keep them both steady. He fixed his focus on a point on the horizon; it was easier to look at the blankness of the sky meeting the ocean as he turned over her words. Few places gave that sort of simplicity to look upon. "And to say she trusted the wrong people is one thing, but not being able to trust her own brother... search me. I can't find the bright side of this." How could it be this easy to lean on him again? To take comfort from him, when, rightfully, he had no reason to trust her after all the horrible things she'd said and done. She couldn't deny that those eight months had ever existed, and yet, here they were. There was no part of her that wasn't grateful for him. Talking about those two kids was too painful, especially since she'd known Jonathan Corner at the age of 11. She'd sat his family down and explained the whole of the Wizarding world to them, and, she supposed, she felt some level of responsibility for today. Oh, sure, she had no idea of knowing what was to come. Ten years earlier, there hadn't been a war, not even a whisper, but every child that passed through the Leaky Cauldron and got his first taste of magic had become very dear to her. That might have been what prompted her to whisper quietly, "I'm so sorry for everything I put you through. I thought I was doing the right thing for you, at least in the end. Or, at least, that's what I'd convinced myself I was doing. Don't -- please, let me finish? I know you didn't want to talk about it, but after today... I can't not apologise. Those kids woke up this morning, not even thinking that it might be the last time they'd ever get to see each other." With a hard swallow, she pushed herself up to look at him. It wouldn't mean anything, in the end, if she couldn't look at him. "If there's anything I've learned from the last few months -- from mum and Dedalus Diggle and Jonathan and Florence Corner -- it's not to take anything for granted, and I've taken you for granted for far too long. I made a mistake, a very terrible and unforgivable mistake, but I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for it. I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I would never ask for it. I wish there was a way to go back and change it all." She didn't even need to ask him to let her finish, but he could understand the request. Whenever something had to be said, it was better to have it out in one go -- especially as he knew she had years to think those words out. There wasn't any doubt with Doc that she probably had come at how to say this in a million different ways. If it was anything like last week in the kitchen, when he finally managed the courage to ask if there was a chance to start things over again, then he knew exactly how that was. There was a sort of madness in flipping things like that over and over, thinking of saying it, but holding onto it -- cyclical punishment, and then you began to feel like you deserved it... Doc knew all about that. Looking at her, he could tell when she had said the full piece. And then he shook his head. "It's not unforgivable, Charity." A flock of birds skirted the shoreline, and he watched them for a moment. "Maybe there's no changing what we did, but it's not unforgivable. I didn't stop you -- you're not going to sit here and take all the blame. I won't let you do that. We both did it to ourselves, didn't we?" "It is actually. I wasn't very fair to you. I was testing you," she said with a confused frown. Confessions were clearly on her mind, and if nothing else, maybe the wind would carry some of the guilt away. "It wasn't fair of me at all, but looking back, I know that I was. You gave me space to deal with it, and maybe ordinarily that would have worked. I know it would have worked for you... But I didn't want any space. The more time I had to think about not being able to -- of being barren --" She hated that word; it made her sound so empty, like she had absolutely no purpose in life. Charity cringed. "-- the more I convinced myself that obviously I wasn't good enough for you, that you deserved better -- more. And I started thinking that you had snapped to it." "You thought you were doing what was best for me," Doc surmised. He let out a breath, eyes lowered to the sand beneath their feet. "And I thought I was doing what was best for you. You gave me the papers? I signed them." He pulled his sights upward, fixing Charity in this view. "We could sit here arguing who's more at fault all day long, and we're never gonna anywhere with it. We both went wrong somewhere along the lines, Char. Somehow." It was confusing, this mix of relief and tension. She wanted him to tell her exactly how she could prove herself, how she could make things right between them, but he insisted on taking on half the blame. Charity pulled her knees to her chest, resting her cheek against one of her knees so that she could still see him. But there was hope, and hope was a hard thing to keep from bursting to the surface. It was lighter than air and burst through whatever it was blocking it, and that was exactly what Charity was feeling. More than guilt, more than blame. Maybe, just maybe she could share the blame, if it meant that she and Doc would be all right. "And you're really all right... with my not being able to...?" After five years of knowing, she still had a hard time saying it. Night was beginning to settle quickly now that the last of the sunset was coming to a close. A sunset on a beach. Even more stereotypical, but it was pure coincidence on the timing, and anyone privy to the conversation would know better than to think the occasion was one out of a page of some romance novel. At least the headache he'd been carrying throughout the day was finally beginning to taper down in the quiet now, and Doc had long ago found that he had a certain clarity of thought in the open air. He nodded in return to the question, certain that he had the words precisely as he wanted them. "I ever say I wasn't?" He reached out the hand nearest Charity, tugging her in toward him with a one-armed embrace, and making certain he leaned in at least half the way. There were more words he could have said, but reassurance never needed to be spoken. |