Gilded Lily | Cassian

Friday, June 16, 1922
7:45 PM
Psychiatric Ward

“Hush now, love. This will help you relax.”

Rosalie’s lip trembled as the tears continued streaking down her face, a slight wince crossing her expression as the nurse injected something through the top of her hand.

It had been a fight tearing the young woman from the arms of her husband as she screamed and begged, clinging to him even as the nurses and healers tried to reassure her. She’d swung at a few of them, the normally passive people-pleaser nowhere to be found as they wrestled her into a bed, using magic and a few muggle means to get her restrained.

She’d screamed for Cassian to make them stop, screamed for Julia who had no idea she was there. She’d bargained, begged, promised to eat if they’d just let her go home. All of it had fallen on what felt like indifferent ears.

No one cared about what she wanted. No one cared that she was terrified. No one paid any mind to her tears, convinced they knew what was best for her.

As the medication flowed through her veins, Rosie felt the fatigue return. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes heavy, but locked on her husband as she whimpered softly, his name the last thing she said before she fell into a deep sleep.

---

Saturday, June 17, 1922
8:20 AM

“It’s only a small amount, Rosalie. A few bites to see how your stomach handles it.”

The psychiatrist sat at one side her bed, while Cassian sat on the other. Breakfast had been delivered fifteen minutes ago, and for the entirety of those fifteen minutes, Rosie had stared at the meager offerings on her plate. A scoop of eggs, a few slices of apples, a small bowl of oatmeal and half a piece of toast.

No tea. When Cass had told them all she was drinking was tea to get her through the day, they’d removed her comfort blanket altogether. None until she was properly eating again.

Had she ever properly eaten in the first place? She couldn’t recall a time when she’d ever eaten with the same appetite she’d seen in others.

A soft sigh through her nose as she finally reached for a piece of the apple, placing it gingerly between her lips, and scrunching her eyes shut as her stomach revolted. She bit down regardless, chewing even as the nausea rose up, urging her to spit it out.

A forced swallow as the psychiatrist praised her, as though chewing and swallowing food was some great feat she had managed. It only served to make her feel small.

She turned slightly to look at Cassian, her eyes softening as the tiny bite of apple hit her stomach. Her lip trembled as tears pricked at her eyes. “Can you please just take me home now? I can eat. I’ll be good, I swear.”

---

Sunday, June 17, 1922
Noon

“We had to sedate her again.”

The nurse’s update was pointedly exasperated for a woman who dealt with her share of patients on the mental ward. Rosalie’s outburst earlier that morning had worn on the nurse whose patience was quickly waning, and she’d injected the young woman with another sleeping serum.

“She did better at breakfast today. She ate an entire piece of toast and a few bites of oatmeal, but when the psychiatrist came to see her, she broke down.”

Rosalie stared at the wall in front of her, her fingers trailing the stitching on her blanket, listening to the conversation between the nurse and Cassian as though she weren’t in the room. Anger surged through her, and she felt her nails dig into her palms as her fists clenched.

Nobody understood. They only saw a girl starving herself, and not the turmoil beneath. They saw skin and bones, but not the broken heart buried within. They heard her cries and curses but not the pain laced in her voice. They didn’t see the guilt she carried, the shame, the hurt.

When the psychiatrist had tried to sit with her and dig a little deeper, she’d panicked. She didn’t want to be analyzed or observed. She didn’t want the psychiatrist to pretend he was her friend, only to turn around and tell Cassian how fucked in the head she was.

“Just leave me alone,” she breathed, to both the nurse and her husband.

Her gaze never moved from the wall.

---

Monday, June 18, 1922
2:45 PM

“What happened to you and your husband was not your fault. You have to see that.”

Rosalie stared, her expression subdued and softer than it had been in the days since she’d first arrived at St. Mungo’s. The psychiatrist, Healer Thompson had been relentless in his determination to reach Rosalie, despite her resistance. He came for every meal, sat with her as she picked through bits and managed what she could. He cheered on her smallest efforts and didn’t scold her when she struggled.

Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten Rosie to talk, soft, short answers at first. Baby steps, he called them.

“If I hadn’t - “

“Wanted something of your own? Wanted to be with the man you loved? Tried to help someone in need?” Rosie quieted, listening, for the first real time since that night. “None of those things make you bad. They don’t make you selfish. They make you human.”

Human. Rosalie blinked, realizing she’d never considered that perhaps what she had wanted with Cassian, was what anyone would have wanted with the person they considered the love of their life. She had never considered that she was entitled to her own life and choices as much as anyone else was.

“And it didn’t give them the right,” she said softly, looking to Healer Thompson for validation, but he only offered her a small smile.

“Your husband chose you, the same as you chose him. He chose to love you. He chose to be with you, despite what you feared your family would do. He chose to bring you here. He chooses to come every day and stay with you. Not because he has to, but because he loves you.”

Rosie swallowed hard, and nodded. She knew that, all of it. She just hadn’t been able to recognize it through the fog. “I know,” she answered, “I just…I don’t know how to love him in a way that feels fair to him.” She paused, letting her thoughts wander for a moment. “I think I’m always waiting for him to wake up and realize that life with me is too hard.”

There had been too much that had happened between them at such a young age. Cassian still had his entire life ahead of him. They were only seventeen. He could start anew, find someone he was more compatible with and go live his dreams free of the turmoil that Rosalie had brought into his life.

“And if he ever does, Rosalie, you’ll have to accept it, and understand that every one of us has the right to our choice. It doesn’t mean you’re bad or broken, or that you did something wrong.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, with a slight nod, as a knock sounded on the door and her husband peeked his head in.

“Come in Mister McCormick,” the psychiatrist said, ushering the young man in. “She’s just getting ready for an early dinner.”

---

Wednesday, June 20, 1922
6:30 PM

Her face was filling out a bit, rounder in her cheeks and her eyes were beginning to rid themselves of the dark hallows that had lingered beneath. Light was finding its way slowly back into blue oceans, and laughter had found its way into her chest again.

Yesterday, when the psychiatrist had mentioned how perturbed Gretchen would be to see the appetite her daughter was developing, it had caused Rosie to grin so widely that she’d had to cover her mouth to keep from spitting her chicken all over her lap.

Somehow, between Friday and Wednesday with a regiment of regular eating and a psychiatrist that held a gentle but firm hand with her, Rosalie was beginning to feel like perhaps there was some light at the end of the tunnel. While she knew she wasn’t fixed and she still had a long way to go, her future didn’t feel quite as daunting.

Healer Thompson had helped talk her through some of the darkest thoughts she’d had, and helped reconcile her feelings around her and Cassian’s relationship. While he acknowledged that coming to terms with the loss of her baby had no timeframe, he encouraged her to try and find healthy ways to cope with her grief.

She had settled on letter-writing and poetry. Small confessions of her heart that her baby would never hear, but would help to get everything she felt out and unburied.

But she owed her husband an apology first.

She smiled at him, warmly when he sat down beside her, the first real smile she had given him since before they’d left France. “Hey Casanova,” she said gently, sitting up in her bed with her legs curled under her. She reached for his hand, running her thumb gingerly over the top of it.

“I ate everything today,” she said nodding towards her empty dinner plate on the bedside table. “They said a few more days too make sure I’m sticking with it. They don’t want me to go home before they feel confident I’m past the worst of it.” She paused a moment, tugging on his hand to have him join her on the bed.

“I owe you an apology,” she began, her heart thudding softly against her chest in anticipation, “for everything.”

Friday, June 16, 1922
7:45 PM
Psychiatric Ward

It needed to be done. He knew it needed to be done. Knowing didn't make it easier to watch them fight his wife into a bed while she cried and screamed for him to save her. It took every inch of his restraint not to shove them off her and insist they not touch her. That would defeat the purpose of them being there. What would've been the point of putting his hands on her the way he had? What justification would've remained for the betrayal he'd caused her when he ignored every plea if he simply took her home after?

Cassian apologised, over and over, but he forced himself to remain at a distance. Too close and he wouldn't be able to stop his hands from reaching out for her.

Rosie couldn't go home. It had nothing to do with not loving her enough or not respecting her autonomy. Rather, he couldn't watch her at home, and even if he could, all he'd see was her making excuse after excuse while her body continued to shrink. It would only lead to unproductive arguments where she insisted she wasn't hungry or might nibble at the edge of toast to appease him. Those weren't solutions, only festering problems.

His lips kept parting as apologies pushed against their insides but he forced them to remain in. More apologies might only make her feel justified in her screaming and kicking to escape, like he did something intentionally harmful.

Instead, he tried to make her understand – pleaded with her to understand – that he loved her but...couldn't...take her home.

---

Saturday, June 17, 1922
8:20 AM

Ten minutes. They gave him ten minutes and only because of the distress both he and his wife exhibited. He couldn't make a habit of showing up outside of visiting hours. The head psychiatrist had been gentle but firm. She understood it was a difficult time for them and, having received the records from over at Spell Damage, knew that this was all part of a bigger trauma that had affected them. She wasn't insensitive to their suffering but insisted she couldn't chronically bend the rules for them because then she'd be bending it for everyone and they would have concerned family and friends roaming the wards at all times, getting in the way of real work.

In truth, Cassian had listened to only half of it, more eager to see his wife and ensure she'd survived the night. Logically, he knew that one night – especially one spent at Mungo's instead of home – was where she was least likely to die, but it didn't settle him.

Cass woke up that morning feeling less sure in his conviction after a night replaying her crying and screaming.

“Can you please just take me home now? I can eat. I’ll be good, I swear.”

"...Rosie..."

Unlike the psychiatrist, he wasn't about to praise her for a spoon full. The boy was no shrink. He didn't really understand how brains worked or the right way to make them work. What he knew was that watching her swallow under duress was nothing to take heart in. It didn't mean anything had changed – and he knew, somewhere where his common sense still resided, that nothing would change in such a short space of time. His wife had wilfully starved herself. A few nights at Mungo's wouldn't make her see the light.

His expression fell, despite its attempt at staying calm and put together. "I can't. You know I can't. At home...I...I can't take care of you – not by myself." He reached for her hand, trying to make her understand. "Don't ask me to watch you die. You have to stay here. Here is where they can help you better than I ever could."

Home after a few meagre meals?

Absolutely not.

---

Monday, June 19, 1922
2:45 PM

“Come in Mister McCormick. She’s just getting ready for an early dinner.”

He'd come at the right time.

With how often Cassian visited, it wasn't a surprise that he'd started to gain the sympathies of some of the less rigid staff. The boy was always respectful and never disruptive, and it had paid off. While it wasn't visiting hours, he'd been told that if he could arrive around this time, they'd see about letting him in for a little – only a little. They still had jobs to do and were starting to be observed by their fellow healers for frequently breaking the visiting hour rule for him. It had placed a fire under his skin, one that had seen him working right through his lunch break so he could be free around this time.

"Sounds like I'm right on time," he said, a small smile forming as he entered the room. Cassian had brought his own lunch, figuring they could eat together before he was unceremoniously booted from the ward.

It was a necessary part of the concessions, he knew. At some point, he would be removed for not being meant to be there. Sometimes it was ten minutes, sometimes only five if the healer on duty was in an irritable mood. It didn't matter to him so long as he got to see her and show her that he still loved her and hadn't abandoned her. In the evenings, during actual visiting hours, things were far more merciful.

Cass pulled up a chair by her bed, then set down the lunch his mother had packed for him. It was a small anchor for the boy who felt like he'd been drifting ever since he brought her here...maybe even longer. She was in a hospital bed with an attentive psychiatrist at her side, but...but they could eat together and he could tell her the less aggravating things about his job...and feel, even for a moment, like things were getting back to normal.

It was hard on the outside without his best friend, but he knew she had to stay there, and that fact was becoming easier to accept with each new day.

---

Wednesday, June 21, 1922
6:30 PM

There had been no concessions for him that day.

Showing up over an hour early for visiting hours had only gotten him stuck sitting in the waiting area while a scowling elderly receptionist filled out documents and acted as if his very presence offended her. Maybe, by now, it did. He'd been relentless in his visits. They didn't always let him in, but it didn't make him any less willing to try. Things just didn't work out for him this round, but it didn't mean it would never, and that was the unfortunate lesson a few of the healers had taught him, much to the annoyance of others who were not nearly so endeared to him.

When the time came, Cassian promptly made his way up to the psychiatric ward, eager to see his wife. While it was getting easier to accept her being there, it was getting harder to be home alone.

His parents were still there, and a few nights he was over by the theatre, but...none of it felt the same. It was like stretching a muscle he hadn't had to make use of in a long time. Being without Rosie felt a little like learning how to walk again after breaking both legs. For the last few years, she'd always been there, except on school breaks. When they got married, only work separated them. Now there was a hospital and staff that cared more about the institution's rules than his inability to remain apart from her.

Briefly, he'd considered injuring himself enough to earn his own admission, but the Ravenclaw brain within him quickly caught on to what a terrible and ineffective idea it would be.

They would never house them together.

“Hey Casanova.”

She was smiling that evening, and it made his heart flutter. Rosie had had no qualms about making it clear how much she didn't want to be there. She was deeply upset about having to be admitted. Some days, it almost felt like she was looking through him, punishing him for giving them what amounted to permission to hold her hostage. She'd just gotten her job. It was gone already because she hadn't been able to show up. She was grieving and had to do so publically. She begged to be taken home, but he never did.

Cassian wasn't sure he'd still have a marriage by the time this was all over, not with how upset she was. That smile was the first sign that maybe it wasn't unsalvageable. But even if it were, he'd take Rosie alive and hating him rather than loving him and dead. Those were his father's words when he expressed his uncertainty about forcing her to remain at Mungo's. There had been several occasions where he'd thought to demand they release her, but those words forced his restraint.

Something was finally bearing fruit.

“I ate everything today."

His own smile grew at the sight of the empty tray. She didn't say the words grudgingly, a marked improvement from the few other meals he'd been able to witness. He moved over to her bed, letting her have his hand.

They said a few more days too make sure I’m sticking with it. They don’t want me to go home before they feel confident I’m past the worst of it.”

Cass sank onto the bed, dropping a kiss on her forehead as he did. "You're doing great." He gave her a real kiss, soft and brief. "I've missed you. It'll be nice having you back home." They were words he'd never dared to utter while she was still in the worst of it, not wanting Rosie to pine in the wrong direction when her focus needed to be there and on her healing. Even without her report, the psychiatrist had kept him up to date on her condition. Not everything, but enough to assure him things weren't nearly so precarious anymore.

It was a relief.

“I owe you an apology, for everything.”

Cassian eased away to look at her. "An...apology?"

The gentle brush of cinnamon against her lips was the first step back into normalcy. There wasn’t enough time for her to hand to drift upward to caress his face, nor the pause she wanted to savor such a moment. Had Rosalie had it her way, indulgence would have won, their kiss speaking all the words she knew she needed to. It was a soft, warm reminder that this wasn’t the end of the road for her, or them. That her story didn’t end here in the cold sterile walls of Mungo’s, but that there was more to come. Something promising and optimistic that spoke of tender kisses and long, balmy nights under the stars.

There seemed to be a never-ending pattern of tragedy that had taken firm control over their lives, and Rosalie was resolute that it ended here. No more self-destruction. No more sabotaging their own lives and happiness. The girl had hit what felt like her proverbial rock-bottom, and she was tired of wandering in the dark.

She wanted to find that optimistic, brave girl that she knew still lingered inside of her somewhere, and let her finally lead the way.

Her smile grew into her eyes as he joined her on the bed. “I’ve missed being home with you,” she said. A surprise to no one, but her voice wasn’t full of desperation or the pleas she had assaulted him with in her first few days here. She sighed softly through her nose, steadying herself for what she knew would be hard to get out, but necessary in order for her to start getting into the right headspace.

The psychiatrist had said that until she understood why she was here, and not just in the shallow sense, she wouldn’t be able to move forward. Rosalie thought that she did understand now, food and time and long discussions having removed much of the fog from her mind and giving her clarity.

She wasn’t just here because she hadn’t eaten.

“Yeah,” she answered with a slight nod, her fingers tightening slightly between his. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone to have to deal with everything. What we both went through,” she paused, seeing his lips already parting and her free hand rose to place a gentle finger against them. She didn’t want him absolving her before she could finish what she needed to say.

When she was sure he’d listen, she continued. “What we both went through was horrific, and I think I was so tangled up in my own grief and guilt that I didn’t consider what it was doing to you.” Rosalie understood that she was entitled to grieve and feel everything she did, but she wasn’t entitled to hurt other people in the process, and whether she liked it or not, she had hurt Cassian.

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” she said, her voice growing quieter. “I know it doesn’t make it okay or change that I did it. I just didn’t want to feel the way I was feeling, and if I was hungry or my head was hurting enough, it made the memories and the emptiness sort of go away.” She looked at him, hoping that even if it didn’t make a lot of sense, he could sort of see where her mindset had been.

“I’m sorry for screaming at you and crying. I know you were trying to help me, and you did the right thing. I hate that I did that to you.” There was no excuse she could give or explanation for the chaos she had caused. She had been scared, yes. Dreadfully upset. But neither of those were good reasons for putting Cassian through such turmoil.

“I love you, and I don’t want us to hurt each other like this.” Not when the world would do enough of the hurting on its own. She offered him a smaller smile this time. “How are you doing?” she asked, holding his gaze. Cassian never handled turmoil or chaos in his life well, and now that the dust was settling for her, she needed to know that he was okay.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone to have to deal with everything. What we both went through.”

They really did make quite the pair, didn't they? In the same way that Cassian could tell when Rosie was about to negate the serious words he felt he needed to say, his wife had the same instinct.

Without knowing what apologies and remorse may have plagued Rosie during her stay in the hospital, the boy was ready to beat them back with the sheer force of a protectiveness that never left him. He may have watched her be taken in, and he himself had refused to rescue her when the cries grew terrible and aching, but the instinct to shield her – especially from herself – had never faded. Recovery was what he wanted from her, not a laundry list of all the ways she thought she'd failed when the world became too heavy for her to continue carrying.

Cassian didn't blame her for what she'd done, not in the way that demanded apology or any sort of fanfare. While he'd had to sit in the silence alone, there had been an anger. It had been dull and incessant, rather than hot and blazing, and it was something he'd had to reconcile. For as long as they'd been together, Rosie had always insisted that they share the burdens, that they were a team and that there was nothing so heavy she wasn't willing to help him carry if he'd just let her...while she hid away and brought herself down to nothing without him.

She hadn't trusted him to carry the weight with her or to help her hold the grief until it no longer burned like white-hot coals in her hands.

It stung, but...he knew it wasn't undeserved.

He...hadn't told her either. It was that realisation that tempered any indignation he may have thought righteous. They were doing the exact same thing; she was simply louder and dangling more precariously from the precipice.

But he let her continue.

“What we both went through was horrific, and I think I was so tangled up in my own grief and guilt that I didn’t consider what it was doing to you.”

Cassian swallowed roughly, not thinking he would like where this apology was going at all. The mirror was too clear, reflecting back to him things he felt too ashamed to say. Hadn't that been his story? So wrapped up in the things that rattled him that he couldn't see the way his soothing balm was her blaring alarm bell.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry for lying to you. I know it doesn’t make it okay or change that I did it. I just didn’t want to feel the way I was feeling, and if I was hungry or my head was hurting enough, it made the memories and the emptiness sort of go away.”

If he could fall through the floor and into the next ward, he would. The more she explained, the more she heaped those searing coals atop his head.

“I’m sorry for screaming at you and crying. I know you were trying to help me, and you did the right thing. I hate that I did that to you.”

"I...yeah..."

Fuck.

Cassian reached a hand up, raking it through her hair while his insides contorted themselves into impossible shapes. "I know...I know you were scared. I shouldn't have brought you in the way I did – I know that, but I couldn't...I couldn't..." Couldn't what? Watch her do the same thing he was more silently doing? The boy felt suddenly ill, a tide of guilt rising to slam him against the shore.

By the time she told him that she loved him, he wanted nothing more than to ask her to stop talking. He might have – sweetly – if it wouldn't bring further attention to his deteriorating condition.

“How are you doing?”

His mouth suddenly went dry. Cassian felt himself shrinking beneath those dazzling blue oceans of hers. He'd spent nights wishing he could lie across from her, drowning himself in them as he did before the world turned to shit. Now, he'd give anything to remove himself from their scrutiny. Did "fine" work after a confession like that? It almost felt insulting yet...the truth...

He sighed so heavily that it physically adjusted the position of his chest and ribcage. "...Fuck."

Cassian withdrew his hand, drawing them both to his lap while his eyes searched for literally anything else. "I..." shit. "I guess I'm not doing okay." Had there ever been more painful words to claw from his throat? "But, I'm working on it."

She could see the way Cassian fought with himself internally, but the not-knowing twisted her own insides. She watched as the wheels turned behind his eyes, his expression growing more and more sullen with her every word. Was she too late? Had the fog finally lifted enough from her to be able to see Cassian clearly for the first time since the attack? Had he been struggling with his feelings towards her the entire time?

Rosalie felt the dread exuding off of him as she absorbed it into her own chest. It sunk deep into her muscles, restricting them even as she tried to stay calm. Was this the end? Had she finally been too much for Cassian, and now she would have to lay in the bed she made alone?

Healer Thompson had said that if Cassian ever made that choice, she would need to accept it and understand, but the girl wasn't ready to let him go. She wasn't ready to be Rosalie Laurence again, and didn't want to have to figure out what life looked like without him being a part of it.

Rosie didn't think she would beg. If this was his line in the sand and he'd finally had enough, she'd have to love him enough to let him go.

"I know...I know you were scared. I shouldn't have brought you in the way I did – I know that, but I couldn't...I couldn't..."

"It was the only thing you could do," she insisted, tugging his hand to make him really listen. "You did the right thing." There was no need for explanations on how she wouldn't have sought help or that eventually she would have given in with gentle persuasion. They both knew better. The outcome was right there staring them in the face.

But he withdrew his hand, the sighs coming off of him heavy and languid as she watched his every move. His hand in his hair, the way he curled into himself.

"...Fuck."

Rosalie braced herself. With her legs already curled beneath her, she forced herself to remain open and relaxed. She fought against the urge to cross her arms over her chest and cradle herself for comfort. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and she needed to face hard things head-on now. It was the only way she'd learn how to manage them in a healthy way. Shrinking and hiding from Cassian had only led her here.

"I...I guess I'm not doing okay."

"Okay," she said softly, her gaze still trained on him, wishing he would just say what was on his mind. Whatever it was, she knew it was going to...hurt? Shock? She didn't know, but she couldn't stand the way he was obviously fighting with himself.

Even if it meant bad news for her, watching him in turmoil broke her heart.

"But, I'm working on it."

He'd pulled his hand away, but Rosalie reached over and took it right back. With her other, she softly took hold of his chin, turning his face back to her so he'd look at her. Her heart thundered behind her sternum, but her eyes remained soft, wanting him to know that it was okay, whatever it was.

"Let's talk about it?" she asked. "I've left you alone with it long enough."

Was it the only way? Cassian let the word settle inside him for a moment, interrogating it for signs it may not have been as veracious as Rosie advertised it to be. There were days he thought the same. He'd known her long enough to know she would wear him down. On other days, when he was feeling particularly low, he thought of the inadequacies his actions had revealed. Cass hadn't been able to save her, not by himself. He hadn't been able to pull her up from the dark that attempted to swallow her whole.

He watched her tense. While his own body threatened critical failure in the moment he knew he needed to hold himself together most, Cassian could already detect the signs of distress in his wife.

It wasn't much of an excuse – not with how often she'd asked him to give her enough respect and trust to decide for herself what she could or couldn't handle – but it was the shield he'd carefully hidden behind. Rosie was unwell; she was dealing with a lot. She was hurting too much for him to cast his burdens on her. It had been easy, while he watched her recover, to reason that it wasn't the right time. Why distract her from her healing over something he should already have conquered?

Selfish, he'd told himself. It would've been selfish to ask her to shoulder more when she was already going through rapid deterioration. It hadn't taken much to convince himself that he was being noble, looking out for her and making sure she didn't try to bite off more than she could chew.

Seeing her tense now, the same old thoughts tried to push their way to the front.

For the first time in so long, Rosie had been smiling. She'd finished her whole meal and had gone back to terms of endearment. Was it right to take that away?

No.

He was asking the wrong question. More accurately, he was allowing himself to believe he was avoiding the wrong problem. Rosie was on the mend...and he didn't want to disappoint her again. With so many things going wrong all around him, Cassian wanted nothing more than to pretend this little pocket was right, but as she reclaimed his hand and made her request, the boy felt as if someone had plunged a dull dagger into his chest.

She was asking him to talk about it. He would be a fool not to. There was no version of love he could claim while he continued to keep it from her, and no grief he could allow himself if he passed up this moment the universe had set out for him.

She tipped his chin, and the eyes he couldn't bear to look at now bored into him. They weren't accusing. They weren't even demanding. There was a quiet plea for them to continue the momentum of progress her hospital visit had propelled them along.

If only wrestling the words from the shame that gripped him were so easy.

His own eyes softened, resigned that he would have to say it and that he would have to accept everything that came with his confession.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, not knowing where else to start if not his millionth apology. "Nothing makes it stop, nothing...but the vials." Cassian swallowed roughly. "I didn't know how to tell you...and knew I should've." His hands squeezed hers, his body giving its own plea now that he'd gotten it out.

"I couldn't keep being me," the side of himself everyone needed, the boy who was coping, coming around, on the mend, "without...I just needed everything to not feel so...awful."

"I'm so sorry. Nothing makes it stop, nothing...but the vials."

Potions. Drugs. She should have known.

In the back of Rosalie's mind, perhaps she did. Perhaps there was a little nagging thought that she'd silenced or buried that would have set her alarm bells off to the bottled cope that Cassian reached for when things got too dark. He'd already told her back in France that he was struggling, but with everything else piling on, that worry had fallen from precedence.

For a moment, guilt overwhelmed her, realizing that her mental and emotional absence had failed to keep her from seeing his challenges - before she stopped herself. It wasn't her fault. Cassian's addiction was not her fault, just like her eating disorder wasn't his.

She forced herself to listen, rather than let her mind run away with itself. He deserved that space to talk, especially after she'd asked him to.

"I didn't know how to tell you...and knew I should've."

Her hands returned his squeeze, reminding him with the silent reassurance that she was there and wasn't pulling back.

"I couldn't keep being me, without...I just needed everything to not feel so...awful."

Her lips parted, but she paused, giving a soft nod instead. It was exactly what she had been feeling. When the feelings and emotions had become to heavy for her to carry on her own, instead of turning to the person who she was supposed to trust with that load, she'd self-destructed instead, preferring the solace of a physical spiral than a mental one.

"I...I understand now," she said slowly, "Maybe in some ways, this was a blessing in disguise. Not for what it put us through but...maybe so that I could see things from your end." Her hand released his, taking hold of his arm as she laid back onto the pillows and pulled him with her. If a nurse walked in, certainly there would be a chastising, but all that mattered to Rosie in the moment was that the two of them came to a soft place where for once, they saw each other in a real, honest way.

When he laid down beside her, she reached out to brush a few curls from his eyes. "I'm proud of you for telling me," she said gently, "And I'm not going anywhere." Her fingers trailed the side of his face, before she cupped his cheek, wanting to make sure he was listening. "We're both really sick right now." It was clear to her now, that the choices they'd made were symptoms of a larger problem, but not one so overwhelming, she believed, that they couldn't survive it.

"But you helped me, and I want to keep helping you. You love me, right?" She knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it, so he would understand the depth of it when she said it back and explained what had to come next.

"I...I understand now."

She...

Wait, she did? The tension that saturated his muscles didn't know where to go. He had anticipated a fall in her expression, a subtle pulling away. Cassian still vividly remembered that wooden park bench on which they'd sat the night he confessed to the return of his cravings. He remembered the dejection that had carved itself so clearly into Rosie's expression. Even more, he remembered the crushing weight it had added for him, pressing him down and accusing him once more of not being the man she needed.

Rosie hadn't been able to understand how he could be happy for the life they had and the marriage they'd formed while still desiring the level of relief that only his potions had been able to provide. She hadn't been able to separate his cravings from the genuine feelings he held for her, and while they'd come to a reluctant agreement, it had been tolerance rather than understanding.

He had no reason to believe this time would be any different. His wife didn't like that he sometimes turned to potions instead of her. In her mind, it was a damning indictment of the role she played in his life and the value he placed on her.

Love should be enough; it should solve every problem.

Life was never that simple. Cassian understood that from the inside. He knew his love for Rosie didn't diminish his cravings. He knew that both things could exist at the same time, both intense and all-consuming. The boy also knew how easy it was to see...from the inside. Rosie's words made it sound like she'd stepped inside for herself.

"Not for what it put us through but...maybe so that I could see things from your end."

His end.

Cassian had been so busy trying to understand Rosie, for himself as much as it had ever been for her, that he hadn't taken the time to notice that they now both stood on the same side of the fence. His old habits of declaring himself the weak point and the one who needed to adjust had always been the driving force behind the ease with which he absolved Rosie. Even now, he didn't blame her for not eating, and he didn't really blame her for keeping it to herself. The screaming and crying were forgiven the moment they were uttered, and there had never been a need to look further.

But that wasn't honest, nor was it particularly respectful to Rosie's personhood. The pedestal he held her on was its own cage. Taking a step back, Cassian could see what she did.

They'd both lied. They'd both buried their pain rather than offering it to each other. Potions numbed his pain the way starving had done hers. The gutters were a filthy and unbecoming place, but his wife had never purported herself to be a dainty damsel who couldn't get mud on her boots. It was her right to stand in the gutter alongside him, with her own ability to grow and exercise her agency.

Cassian let her pull him down onto the pillow, melting at the feel of her fingers as they gently crossed his skin. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as he finally allowed himself to feel the relief that flooded him. She was proud of him. Not scared, not disappointed, not frustrated – at least not outwardly – but...proud. Proud he'd bared his weakness to her rather than continuing the facade that had helped the house continue to run.

"And I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not?"

His heart fluttered arrhythmically. It was the monster in the closet, the one that had poked its head out each time he'd thought he would be different and let her in. It made faces and threatened that the next time really would be the last time, but from her own lips, she promised to stay.

"We're both really sick right now."

We.

It was funny how much of a difference that little word could make. Cassian wasn't, by any means, happy to find that his wife suffered as destructively as he did. Certainly not. But for the first time, he didn't feel...alone. He wasn't the only sick one, not the only one who needed to get better. It lightened the load he carried on his shoulders. Both were really sick; not him sick and Rosie having to endure. It was the truest partnership he'd felt in Merlin knew how long.

"You love me, right?"

"You know I do," he said, tucking her head beneath his chin so he could nuzzle her. They'd make for quite the sight depending on who walked in, but as was frequently the case when he tangled himself with Rosalie, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. "At least, I hope you know. Even when I keep failing, even when everything's falling apart. I'll always love you."

Even if there came a day when she no longer felt the same.

Rosalie wished that love were the answer to all of life's hard questions. How incredible it would be to be able to love someone hard enough to save them from their own pain. A brandished sword, carved from her own heart, wielded against every demon and dark shadow that threatened to steal the light from his eyes and the smile from his lips.

Cassian was notoriously self-deprecating and punishing. Rosalie had watched him fall victim to his own harsh assessments time and time again, never seeing himself with the same grace and magic through which she viewed him.

He saw himself through a lens of destruction and failure. He reviewed himself against her every tear and heartbreak, finding fault within himself for the things that hurt her. He didn't see the way his own eyes brightened when he laughed, or the way his most casual touches eased all of her fears. He didn't see the bravery that roared in his chest when he protected not just her, but what they had together. He couldn't find solace in the boy that was genuinely chivalrous, kind, forgiving and introspective in a way that naturally drew people to him.

Cassian was a lover. But he was also a fierce fighter, lessened only by his own words and evaluations that told him he was weak and wasn't enough.

He was the strongest person she had ever known. The most loyal friend. The most brilliant mind. The person with the most fiercely held convictions. Perhaps most importantly, the most loving heart, capable of love that at times she didn't feel she deserved.

His addiction didn't lessen any of those things. It didn't lessen him as a person. It was an illness, she understood now, that sometimes overwhelmed all of the good things he was, whispering falsehoods in his ear that it was the only thing he needed.

She understood that now. Maybe not in the exact same way, but close enough, she thought, to finally stand beside him in that fog, rather than begging him to walk through it from the other side.

"You're not?"

For a moment, she saw that sweet thirteen-year-old that she met one balmy summer, peeking out from behind his eyes. The boy that she knew had always been afraid of one more person abandoning him. The boy that hid behind the curtain because he never felt he was enough to make anyone stay.

He was enough. He was worth fighting for. She wanted him to see it too.

"I'm not," she repeated as he wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer to him. "You didn't leave me," she said softly. He was honest, and it was all she had ever asked of him. As long as there was honesty between them - from both of them, not just him - she knew in her heart they would find a way through the harder times. It was the secrecy and masks that had always torn them apart, and honest communication that had held them strong.

She could see that now. Finally.

"At least, I hope you know. Even when I keep failing, even when everything's falling apart. I'll always love you."

She closed her eyes as he nuzzled her, letting herself sink into the warmth and safety that now radiated between them.

"I know," she answered. She did, and always had. Even before Cassian first said the words - in a genuine way - Rosalie had known in her heart that he loved her. It was a recognition, she supposed when one heart already knew the truth and could see it in another.

Rosalie's love for Cassian was unconditional. It wasn't some juvenile sentiment, or something steeped in romantic fantasies, but the truth. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, that would ever cause her heart to cease wanting him. She could put up boundaries, and had, and she could say when something wasn't acceptable.

But the love would always be there. She was beginning to understand that it didn't have to be a crutch, but something to hold up as a standard to reach for and deserve.

"I love you, Cassian. More than you'll ever know." She lifted her head slightly from beneath his chin so their eyes could meet again. "I want us to get better together, but its not fair of me to ask you to be my only support, and I can't be your only support." Her fingers traced the freckles beneath his eyes, her oceans softening into gentler waves with a plea behind them that he'd easily be able to read.

"We need to tell your parents, so that they can help. We'll tell them together. No more secrets."

She didn't wait for him to try and talk his way out of it, even if she wasn't sure he would. She cupped his cheek again, her eyes boring into his. "Promise?"

He hadn't left her.

Rosie made it sound like a great feat, as if he'd had to fight against his better self or any grand philosophies that might have made it difficult. In truth, it wasn't difficult at all. There wasn't a cell in his body that wanted to leave her, not a single fibre of his being that believed a happy ending could exist if she were removed from the picture. Cassian's love for his wife wasn't superficial...or rational (at times). Some might call it a desperate kind of love, the one all the great songs warned weren't meant to last. But his had no burnout; his had no place where it saw an end and neatly moved toward it.

It was leaving that posed the real problem. Sick, healthy, in a great mood or cursing him out, there wasn't a version of Rosalie that had the ability to convince him that they weren't worth fighting for.

He wanted to take credit for what she clearly thought to be profound and inspiring, but the truth was far less chivalrous or flashy. At the end of the day, Cassian had neither the strength nor the courage to let her go. He didn't want to. For him, there was no one else and no path that could promise him greater ease.

"God couldn't pry me away from you, gorgeous." A bold claim, he knew. Tempting fate? A little, given the many dangers that had found them in the last year alone, but it was how he felt. Wherever she went, he would be there, even if it meant following her into the next life to keep his promise. The latter sentiment, he would keep to himself, if only to avoid undue pressure. Cassian didn't need his wife thinking he was sizing up his life. That wasn't the case at all. He loved the life he'd made with her and was excited for things to start looking up. There was so much he still wanted to do for her, so much he still wanted to explore with her.

It was just difficult to see it and all and remain excited if she were no longer there.

"I love you, Cassian. More than you'll ever know."

She still loved him. At the risk of sounding naive, in that moment, it really felt like all he needed. The last year had taught him a great deal about life. The most poignant message was that love, while powerful, was not always going to be enough. That was fine. It still felt important enough, and for him, it was enough to keep him going.

"I want us to get better together, but its not fair of me to ask you to be my only support, and I can't be your only support."

He stiffened against her, unsure he was going to like wherever this went next. Rosie wasn't wrong. The latest emergency had shown him firsthand that he wouldn't and couldn't always be her only support. She was...very right. On his own, he didn't think he'd ever have gotten her to eat again. The boy would have pleaded; he would've loved her with all his might, then one day, she'd have simply...not woken up. Even past that danger, the thought still terrified him. She'd whittled her way down enough to make it hard to deny, but she'd have been content to continue as if nothing were happening.

He knew she was right and yet...

"We need to tell your parents, so that they can help. We'll tell them together. No more secrets."

There it was.

Cassian's blood went cold. Tell? Tell his parents? The people he'd promised nearly two years ago that he would never touch the stuff again and didn't have a problem? The father he'd looked in the eyes and sworn he knew it had been dumb and that he didn't have anything to worry about? The mother who'd sobbed and told him she didn't recognise him?

He...he couldn't.

His lips parted to say as much, but Rosie took hold of him, forcing him silent.

"Promise?"

Shit.

"...Rosie...I..."

What did he even say? He knew she was right. His own actions had sparked this. There had been no questions and no leeway. When his wife told him that she didn't want to go to the hospital, Cassian had picked her up and taken her anyway. His parents knew now. The staff at St. Mungo's knew. He had single-handedly dragged her business right out into the open, and there had never been a discussion. How did he tell her no now?

Did he have a right to? Pressed as he was to admit it...Rosie...couldn't continue being his only support. If things got bad again, hard as he was trying for them not to be...she shouldn't need to shoulder it on her own.

He sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze. This was something he would have to be a man about, and the husband she needed.

"Alright, promise."

Merlin help him.

"God couldn't pry me away from you, gorgeous."

Her eyes smiled before her lips caught up with them, a small laugh leaving them with a puff of air. There he was. Her overdramatic, theatrical, larger-than-life Casanova. The sweetness and sincerity in his voice didn't take away from the grandiosity of it all, and while Rosalie had never been prone to the same, she couldn't help but feel that same certainty settle over her.

In the dark or light, Cassian was the only one she would ever love. She had said it once beneath the stars as fireflies shimmered gold into the summer night. In the moment as her blue oceans had gazed into his earthy shores, their breath falling on each other's lips, she'd made him that promise and surrendered her entire heart. No matter what happened, come what may, hell or high water, he would always be the one she chose.

The certainty of it hadn't come as a loud, brash revelation. Rather, it had been something that had taken root over time. Cassian McCormick had never been some passing crush or a girlish infatuation she might someday outgrow when life became harder or the world less forgiving. If anything, all the devastating things that had come to pass, all the trials they walked through together had only revealed the depths those roots had taken for her.

Not because life with him had been easy, or because loving him had spared her from hurt or sorrow, but because every authentic part of herself somehow led back to him. She'd never wanted a life that didn't have him in it. There was no future she could imagine that didn't have her waking up to those warm brown eyes and those laughs that made her feel at home.

"I don't think God would try," she answered, "He made us for each other and knows I'd only find my way back to you."

Her hand on his face remained soft and gentle, her eyes never leaving his as she waited for him to either promise or refuse. If he refused...then she'd have to tell his parents herself. She didn't want it to come to that. Together, she could stand beside him and support him through the hardest parts, interceding when or if it looked like things wouldn't be going well.

But she'd do it herself if she had to. There was no world she was going to live in where she looked the other way now while Cassian drowned himself in poison. As much as he'd needed to save her from herself in any way possible, she felt that strongly now.

"Alright, promise."

She smiled, her heart slowing into a gentle cadence, melting with relief. It would be a long road, and Rosie wasn't naïve to think that just telling his parents would be enough to heal him, but it was a big step in the right direction. Together they could work on healing and becoming stronger versions of themselves. Someday, maybe they'd be able to actually move past all of this and have the life they'd always dreamed of.

"Good." She took his lips into hers for a brief kiss, lest the nurses get wind and rush in to have him removed. "It's always been me and you, love. This is just one more thing for us to walk through together."