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+------ Thread: 5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Convalescence | Rossian (/showthread.php?tid=1020)
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RE: 5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Convalescence | Rossian - Cassian McCormick - 05-09-2026
"Fine."
It wasn't an invitation. It wasn't a welcome.
But it was a door, albeit one barely cracked open. Rosie's expression said it all, her tone the death knell he'd been trying to ignore for the better part of the afternoon. There was no time to think about it. He'd said two minutes, and after breaking so many other promises, it was one he intended to keep. Cass glanced briefly to the clock on the far wall, mentally beginning his two minutes. He wouldn't impose any longer than that, unwilling to have her thinking he'd snuck his way in just to trample over boundaries he'd helped her set.
It was all too reminiscent of the eggshells he'd learned to walk on after she'd shut him out over the Madeleine situation. Invisible mines lay all around him, and setting off the wrong one might see him out before he ever uttered a word.
Cass could feel himself shaking. Where did he start? How much could he cover in 120 seconds? It didn't feel like nearly enough. There were apologies he wanted to give – real ones. There were explanations that required further explanation. There were things he felt that...he didn't know whether they mattered anymore, not with how thoroughly everything had gone to shit.
"Here..."
Reaching into his left pocket, he pulled out the locket he'd yanked from Mrs. Rousseau's fingers. Carefully, he extended it to her, remaining where he stood so she wouldn't assume he was letting himself beyond where he was rightly wanted. In some ways, he was building up to it. Drinking, theatre boys, hell, even potions would've been an easier conversation. Looking at the glistening metal, a sudden surge of anger poured into him. The woman had had the audacity...after everything she'd already done.
He forced a breath.
"Mrs. Rousseau," he explained, as if a name would be enough. If only it were. There were only so many ways he could excuse being near the woman and retrieving the locket, but he didn't know how ready he was to get to the big finish.
80 seconds.
"I got these for you, too. I...I figured you might have wanted them back." Reaching into his right pocket. He pulled out the shrunken boxes. Cassian placed them on the ground before drawing his wand to unshrink them. It was their lives, everything they'd built after running. When they'd left Arundel Castle, it was with a few things they could grab and the shirts on their backs. After that, they'd rebuilt. They accumulated things that collectively told the storyof not only their struggle but also the love they'd been freely able to indulge in.
Those first nights on the run, under the stars, hopping from motel to motel. Their flat. Collapsing together from exhaustion, having those Sundays where they could finally breathe. It would've been so easy to dismiss it all as a dream were it not for the boxes that contained all the proof that they had run and that, for a while, they'd done what everyone said they couldn't.
It wasn't always easy, nor was it always fun, but it had been theirs.
60 seconds.
"I got your plants in here," he continued, rummaging carefully to avoid further damage. "She...she had some of them on her balcony," the ones that had been most useful for her, "but I got them back, too."
Cassian shot her a wary look, silently questioning whether advancing was okay before deciding there wasn't enough time left for such a debate. Instead, he took a wide berth around her before placing all the plants beneath Justine's window and unshrinking them next. When he was done, he crossed the room to stand by the door again. The whole time, he kept his eyes locked on the ground, wanting to respect her wish to not have him look.
30 seconds.
"I got back as soon as I could. I tried, Rosie, I did. I missed the final ferry back across the channel and had to wait for morning. Didn't have enough for the train but figured something out. I didn't think it would've taken so long. I just—."
7 seconds.
There was no time for the rambling either. It would've been easy to tell himself that he'd run out of time—that he was just being noble and honouring her wish for the two minutes, but Cassian knew. The excuse would've been flimsy at best.
With what remained, he had to tell her.
"She's dead."
RE: 5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Convalescence | Rossian - Rosalie McCormick - 05-09-2026
Rosie hadn't know what Cassian had intended to say when she'd reluctantly agreed to his request, but nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared her for what came dangling between his fingers.
"Here..." he'd said, and she'd only looked for a brief moment, not understanding what she was supposed to be looking at, before her eyes shot back, widening as her mouth fell open slightly. Was that...was that was she thought it was? He extended his hand to her, and she stood from he bed, approaching him almost cautiously, not quite believing her own eyes.
How? That day, before work, she'd taken it off and left it on the kitchen counter. She hadn't wanted it to snag on a machine or on the fabric she'd been embroidering, otherwise she'd have never removed it.
Her locket. Her expression softened as she took it gingerly from him, cupping it in her own palm as tears flooded her eyes. In the days following the attack, she had realized that so much of their life had been lost. Not just in their day to day, but in the precious things that had cemented so many memories in her heart.
The locket was by far her most treasured of them. He'd given it to her on their fifteenth birthday, after the night they'd promised themselves to each other. Her thumb ran over the silver piece, her skin brushing over the etched lettering of 'Cassian & Rosalie'. "How?" the word came broken in her throat as tears - of relief this time - came streaming down her face. It was the first time since that day that she'd felt anything resembling joy or happiness and her eyes rose to meet his again, not understanding in the slightest.
"Mrs. Rousseau."
Mrs. Rousseau...? In France? In Alençon? But...he'd said...
"I got these for you, too. I...I figured you might have wanted them back."
Boxes. A few of them, all carrying their belongings. Photos. Their years at Hogwarts, a few they'd taken with Freddie during his time with them. One right outside the courthouse where they'd married. Her clothes. His. The little apron she had worn in their kitchen. The white teapot with tiny pink roses all along the lid.
"Cassian," she tried, but he was already moving towards the window. She turned, her gaze following him as he placed what remained of her plants, enlarging them back to their normal size. Her hand closed around the locket, suddenly realizing that the story he had told - it was all a cover. He hadn't gone out with his mates for hours on end, partying like he hadn't a care in the world.
He'd gone to their flat and packed up what was left of the life they had shared. A life that they had struggled in, but one she'd loved nonetheless. A life where she had been happy, a wife, a soon-to-be-mother. A girl that was finally free of the name that expected her to lay down her life in service to her parents' whims.
He...he hadn't just left her here. He'd heard she lost the baby, and he'd gone to retrieve everything else that was precious to her.
"I got back as soon as I could. I tried, Rosie, I did. I missed the final ferry back across the channel and had to wait for morning. Didn't have enough for the train but figured something out. I didn't think it would've taken so long. I just—."
"I - I didn't know...I would have...I would have gone with you," she tried, suddenly feeling terrible about how she had treated him all afternoon. Of course, he'd had to lie. Of course he couldn't just blurt out in front of his mother where he had actually been and -
"She's dead."
"What?" the word came out a soft whisper, her eyes widening as she looked at him.
He was staring at the floor.
Mrs. Rousseau was...dead? She'd taken their things, grave-robbed essentially, and now she was dead? Did that mean, something had happened to her in the last week or...?
Her eyes didn't move from him, something darkening with realization behind them. That old bitch had sold them out, conspired with her family to have them killed, and then...took their things?! Rosalie had thought the woman was her friend. She'd thought that...hell, it didn't matter what she thought anymore.
It didn't matter that she'd only agreed to two minutes. She moved past him and stood with her back against the door, her hand still clutching the locket between her closed fist.
"Cassian, did you kill her?"
RE: 5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Convalescence | Rossian - Cassian McCormick - 05-09-2026
"I - I didn't know...I would have...I would have gone with you."
That would've brought its own problems, ones that were bigger than he thought he knew how to handle. Would Rosie have been able to watch? Could she have stood there witnessing Mrs. Rousseau beg for her life while simultaneously cursing them and the baby they would never meet? Would her nerves have held out when the woman's eyes rolled into the back of her head and the gurgling became...so...terrible?
Even if she could, would he want her to?
It was all he'd been able to think about since he returned. Even now, Cassian wasn't sorry the woman was dead. She deserved it for what she'd done. The nosy hag had dug her own grave when she agreed to Leo Laurence's terms and shovelled her own dirt when she walked into their destroyed apartment and helped herself so freely to the little pieces of their lives that were never hers to take. There wasn't a cell in his body that wasn't happy she was gone, but he couldn't get it out of his mind. Those bloodshot eyes stared back at him when he looked in the mirror. They watched him in the shower. They imprinted themselves on the insides of his eyelids whenever he closed them.
Rosie was already having a hard time with Thomas, and while the relationship was different, it wasn't something he wished for her under any circumstances.
"It's fine," he tried to assure her. "I know that everything's been a lot for you lately, and I didn't want this becoming another thing for you to have to contend with."
Cassian knew very well what he was going to do when he left 5 1/2 Temple Meadow. He knew that he wasn't going to make a simple house call or shoot the breeze. He knew she might try to stop him. Did the boy know he would take her life? Admittedly...no. Cassian had only meant to rough her up and make sure she knew that she wasn't as safe as Leo had led her to think. Seeing the locket...seeing the things they cherished in that woman's house and the understanding that had crept into her eyes when she saw him...they'd all twisted something ugly inside of him.
After that, he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't feel himself. There was only rage for what the woman had so intentionally done to the woman he loved more than himself. To think it was that easy...that she could get away with it – that she would never know how truly she'd hurt Rosie and even more...that if she knew, she wouldn't care.
How could he forgive that?
Rosie moved to the door, taking his attention with her. The final seconds he'd begged for had already trickled by, but she bodily blocked his exit as she took position there.
"Cassian, did you kill her?"
He forced himself to look at her.
It wasn't a secret he intended to keep from her. On the ferry ride back, he'd pored over what he might say. He considered how he might tell her. Nothing had seemed good enough, and now the time was up. There was no more thinking about it, only laying bare the truth and accepting whatever came after.
In response, he lifted a hand to the scratches along his face, his fingers brushing against them lightly.
"It wasn't a cat," he confessed quietly.
He let the words linger in the new silence that fell between them, unsure she needed further explanation. Did he try to justify it? Did he try to absolve himself? He'd done it. A part of him thought he might've done it again even if offered a different choice and a ticket to the past.
"It wasn't right for her to get away with what she did."
He was careful not to mention the baby as the trigger point, not wanting Rosie to blame herself for his actions. Cassian had done what he did with his eyes wide open and in perfect clarity. His wife told him she'd lost the baby she'd cherished without even knowing, and he saw something broken inside her.
It was an ache that demanded a response, and that was all there had been to it.
RE: 5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Convalescence | Rossian - Rosalie McCormick - 05-09-2026
For some, this moment may have been a reckoning. A come to Jesus moment, where all the mistakes and reckless actions they'd taken would be laid at their feet for them to grapple with. For some girls, they may have looked upon the young man that stood before them, unable to recognize the person he had become, or the things he had done. They may have calculated everything, a long list of grievances they'd caused in the name of 'love' to end up at this place.
A place where all innocence had died. Where it had tried to thrive in the place it had been planted, and yet had been stamped on and denied the water and nutrients it needed to survive.
Some girls might feel shame. Horror. Disgust. Some might scream. Some might run from the room, down the hallway to alarm the entire house of the wickedness that had been committed in vengeance.
Rosalie stared, quietly, stoically, even as the tears continued their descent. They pooled in the little corners of her nose, dripped and lingered at her jaw, until they fell into nothing on the floor. Within her, the girl's heart pounded evenly, rhythmically, every beat holding her steady against the door.
His hand rose to his face, brushing over the scratches. She knew it hadn't been something so rudimentary as a cat, knew there was something missing within the story, but hadn't given herself a moment to try and decipher what. She listened to his voice, deep and quiet, his brown eyes watching her - for a reaction? For judgment? For condemnation?
She held neither.
The rage that had been scorching through the girl, rushing through her veins and darkening her thoughts stilled for a moment at his confession. The woman was dead, and he had taken her life. The scratches on his face were from the woman that found more worth in possessions and money than the tiny life that she and Cassian had created with their love. She cared more about herself than the two teenagers that had gone out of their way to be kind to her and helped her with more than she obviously appreciated.
"Good," her soft answer came, and she dropped her eyes to her hand again, peeling her own fingers away so that her gaze landed on the locket. Her thumb flicked it open, the picture of the two happy kids meeting her eyes in a way that softened her heart. That innocence they held, that joy - it had been stolen from them by a cruel family and heartless, soulless woman.
"I'm glad you killed her." Rosalie had never wished death on anyone. She'd never taken joy or even satisfaction in the idea that someone was hurt or suffering. But her baby had suffered. When Crucio had taken hold of her body, it had taken hold of their baby's as well. Innocent. Tiny. Too small for his kicks to be felt or her womb to expand. But alive. Loved. Theirs.
That hag didn't deserve to draw breath.
Her fingers closed the locket again and she set it carefully on the table beside the door. Her eyes found his again as she moved towards him. He'd protected them, avenged their baby. There was nothing else he needed to explain. She didn't need anything else.
The frustration and anger she'd felt towards him was gone, replaced with an admiration and appreciation for the boy - no, man - who had found a grievance against her, and answered it with the same force she'd answered for him. Was it a good thing to do?
Rosalie didn't care. Good, right...what did those words mean anyway, when people had sought them out and hurt them? When they'd murdered their unborn child?
Her hands came to rest gently on either side of his face. "Thank you." Her eyes pooled with all the words she couldn't manage. She wanted him to know how grateful she was. That the rage that had possessed her over the past week was now residing, knowing that none of them, any of them, had gotten away with the evil they had done.
Sometimes justice didn't always come in a neat little box. But some people didn't deserve neat little endings.
Her lips found his, as her eyes closed, relief sweeping over her, as her mouth moved against his.
For the first time since that night, Rosalie thought that maybe, eventually, she'd be okay.
RE: 5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Convalescence | Rossian - Cassian McCormick - 05-09-2026
His ears were ringing again.
In the cacophony of his addled thoughts, Cassian thought he'd heard her say...'good'. Good. Not how could he. Not why he hadn't come to her first or why he'd thought that was the only option. Just. Good.
"I'm glad you killed her."
His limbs were failing, forcing him to lean against the wall to steady himself. There were many things the boy had expected when he shared the news: disappointment, disbelief, maybe even disgust. They'd already been through so much – had already seen so much. Not a week ago, they'd been the victims of extreme violence. His wife had been gutted by it. But he'd gone and sought more violence. He'd seen it as the answer to their injustice. Even worse, even with the backlash he expected...Cassian still believed it so.
There wasn't a world where Mrs. Rousseau could continue drawing breath while their child didn't. There wasn't a world where she got to hug the grandchildren she liked to show pictures of and still have them over for dinners while Rosie carried such heavy hurt.
Didn't they deserve a giggling baby? Didn't they deserve happy dinners and future grandchildren? A secure legacy? A continuation of the love they'd begun under those stars in the Scottish Highlands? He was tired of having things taken from them by people who thought they had a right. There were entirely too many adults who felt entitled to dipping their hands into what he and Rosie had, too many who dismissed it and thought it deserved whatever they said it deserved.
In all his years, he couldn't remember being angrier than when Rosie told him what she did – never imagined he could be capable of such levels of meditated violence, but he had to. The French authorities would never go after her. They were ignorant to the crimes she'd helped perpetuate. Who would ever have gone after her? Who would've made sure she understood that that baby wasn't an afterthought but loved and wanted...and missed? He had a father who was prepared to move mountains and a mother who had bundled all her love to give.
Hearing that Rosie agreed with him, without the full explanation, without the need for further justification, lifted a portion of the weight that had been bearing down on him since the moment Mrs. Rousseau drew her final breath. It was the first time since he'd entered apartment 24 that he didn't feel so alone in his grief and anger.
She was right there, her hands on his face and those blue oceans pulling him back to shore.
Rosie thanked him, and he could feel it deep inside his soul. The gratitude was real and rooted in her own hurt, in what he thought he read as...vindication. She seemed lighter, and if that was all he could salvage, he would take it.
"I already told you," perhaps too theatrically and outlandishly for it to have been taken seriously, but he'd meant it with every fibre of his being, "I'd get you the moon if I ever figured out how." Cassian had always known that he was willing to do many things for his wife. The last day had shown him just how much. It should have terrified him. Maybe it should've even terrified her, but it was the constant he held onto while everything around him continued to change.
Cass managed to find some comfort in that, but not nearly as much as he did in the way her lips found his. It was the first sign he'd received since waking up that told him not everything was doomed. It was salvageable; they were salvageable. He'd been worried, watching Rosie wither from day to day without having the first idea how to fix things.
He let her warmth fill him with each move of their lips, doing everything he could to discard the world outside of them. Both had been driven to terrible things, but, like with everything else, they'd found their way back to each other.