5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Convalescence | Rossian

Friday, June 2, 1922
4:20 PM
Days after this

He was tired of sleeping. Even after he'd been released from the hospital, it seemed all his mother believed he should do. When he woke, she stuffed him full of food – never mind how the healers had insisted he take things easy – then forcefully tucked him back in, insisting he still looked too pale and weak. Most of his meals went that way. They were his only real chance to socialise before she ushered herself and Rosie out, fussing over the importance of him regaining his strength.

His strength was back, more than back. The boy was starting to go stir-crazy staring at his ceiling while he listened to the world go by.

He'd seen his father when he got home. Embarrassed as he'd been to face the man again after everything he'd failed to be, Cass had been overwhelmed by the warmth of his welcome. He thought he'd be mad or that he'd lecture him for his recklessness. While he hadn't been fully back on the ball when he'd first been brought to the house, he'd been prepared to face whatever wrath came his way humbly. In many ways, Cassian welcomed the return to being treated like a child – he craved it. Lying there in bed, there was a peace in knowing he didn't have to be up at 3 AM and toiling until the day was done. He let himself bask in the absence of bills piling up on an old dining table while the ice box taunted them with impending starvation unless they were able to figure something out.

His father went to work.

His mother cooked him meals.

The bills magically vanished the moment they appeared in the same way his laundry had been doing. It wasn't to say Rosie hadn't been doing a good enough job keeping their home and handling things. She was the best wife he could ever ask for and then some. Cassian simply found it nice that neither of them had to.

For the first time in so long, they could breathe, and the feeling was intoxicating.

"What are you doing out of bed?" his mother tutted as he slinked his way into the kitchen. She was the first of the two to notice him, while Rosie bent before the oven to put the beef in. The two had taken to preparing the meals together, his mother wanting not only to teach her recipes but to keep an eye on her. Too much time alone was how darker thoughts set in and she knew the girl had already been through a lot.

Being idle wouldn't do her any good.

"Go," she shooed, waving both her hands as she approached him.

Cassian slipped around her, finally regaining some of his agility and a bit of his cheek despite the way the sudden movement made him wince. Spinning once to stand clear of the hand that reached for his shirt, he settled by Rosie. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him, hip to hip (sort of).

"I'm here to help. Just ask her. You won't find a better taste tester than me, right, gorgeous?"

He dropped a kiss atop her head, lingering close to indulge in the scent of cherry blossoms he'd missed.

"You need to rest."

"I need to move before my limbs forget how."

He was done being asleep and ready to start living again.

None of it felt real.

It was a strange rhythm she had found herself caught in, the sway of life dragging her back and forth in its gentle tide. She was steady in the middle, between reality and not, her mind refusing to make sense of the new world she found herself in.

She put on a smile, forcing the mask on that she had fought so hard against for so long. Polite, eager to help, grateful, small.

It was the only way she could make it through each day.

She was grateful to Julian and Kari and for everything they had done for her since she'd arrived on their stoop. Protected her, cared for her and let her take things easy if she needed to. They were the epitome of gracious and kind, despite everything and she wanted to go out of her way to be helpful and useful in return. She helped Kari in the kitchen as much as she could, tidied up after everyone when she knew where things went and tried not to be a bother.

Not that she felt she was, but it was the only way to distract herself from the emotions that were boiling just beneath the surface of polished veneers. She was Rosalie Laurence again, in all her curated glory, the screaming in her head louder than it had ever been.

She didn't know how to reconcile the domesticity and comfort of the McCormick home with the horror and devastation that still crept through every cell in her body. She didn't know how to feel as light and cheeky as Cassian did, when all she wanted to do was lay down and sob until her body gave out.

It had come to a point where she felt nothing but the terrible ache of being left alive inside a life she no longer recognized.

Cassian still didn't know. He didn't know how they had escaped, or what her father had stolen from them. He didn't know that she had snuffed out the life of someone she had loved dearly, and that she couldn't look herself in the mirror without feeling hatred for the girl that stared back.

He didn't know that she was lost and didn't know who she was anymore.

Still, the mask held, even as everything beneath it bled.

"I'm here to help. Just ask her. You won't find a better taste tester than me, right, gorgeous?"

She hummed, closing the oven quickly as he pulled her to him, her arm wrapping around his waist as she let him hold her. Kari still seemed to be certain that Cassian was teetering on death's edge, ready to make that jump at any given moment, and she'd barely let him out of his bed for more than the bathroom since he'd been home. "Right," she answered with a smile, leaning into his kiss. If there was one bright spot in all of this, it was that he was doing better and seemed to be more himself than he had even before her family had found them.

That...was another thing to grapple with, but not one that Rosie had any interest in doing at the moment. She was all for the small wins.

"I need to move before my limbs forget how."

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," she said, her eyes pleading softly with Kari to let him stay. "Maybe he can set the table."

---

6:00 PM

The four of them sat around the dinner table, conversation flowing easily as it had nearly every night since Cassian had been home. It was obvious to her that his parents were overjoyed to have their son back, and it affirmed for Rosalie that bringing him to them and not to another random hideout was the right decision. Here, there was support and love and protection.

Here, he could just be their kid again, without the struggle of bills and hard labor and adult responsibilities on his shoulders.

She joined in of course, happy to get to know his parents in a way she'd never had the opportunity. It was nice, in a way, to be able to be a couple in the open with some of the adults in their lives, where before they'd always felt they needed to sneak around and hide.

Rosalie pushed the potatoes around on her plate, ignoring the way her stomach growled. She'd never been a big eater, but her appetite was all but nonexistent these days, her throat closing every time she'd tried to put something in her mouth.

"I can clear the table," she offered quickly, when everyone else seemed to be finished, laying her napkin over her plate. She stood from her chair, and held out her hand for everyone to pass their plates. "Any plans for tonight?"

The question was directed to Julian and Kari. It was Friday, and considering they'd all had a rough week, it seemed fitting if the two parents wanted to go out.

6:00 PM

It was his first real meal time since being home, the first time he wasn't confined to his bed while his mother tried to stuff him like a Christmas roast. Sitting at the table, his appetite had opened in a sudden burst. It was safe to say he'd eaten more than he'd intended, lost in the conversations with his wife and parents. For the first time in what felt like forever, things felt normal...safe. It was...nice not having anywhere to be and nice to have his mother fussing over him even in the moments when he felt nothing but exasperation. In some ways, it was nice having someone to tell him what to do again.

Even then, his system had a difficult time fully resting. Cassian found himself anxious from the moment his father went to work until the minute he returned home, tying his and Rosie's safety inextricably to the man's presence. Both his wife and mother kept reassuring him that his father had 'taken care of things'. In his compromised state, his body read that as his father being the shield that kept the danger at bay.

Sometimes, he caught himself staring at the man for too long, parts of him unable to believe that he was really there and had somehow managed to remove a crisis that the pair had spent nearly a year avoiding with minimal success.

Since leaving his bed, he found himself staring a lot at Rosie, too. Back when he'd been in and out of consciousness in the hospital room, the boy thought he'd seen shadows of more troubling feelings etched into the parts of her expression where she liked to hide them, but the potions had left him so out of it that he'd never been able to get a proper look. Back home, Rosie was allowed in when his mother came to offer him meals, but, otherwise, she was held hostage by his mother. The woman likely had her own concerns about his wife, but Cass was sure a lot of it had to do with ensuring he didn't become too overwhelmed.

Feeling more himself, it was time to start getting to the bottom of things.

"I can clear the table."

"Nonsense," his mother replied breezily, a wave of her hand dismissing the notion. "You've hardly touched your dinner. We're in no rush. No real plans to speak of; we'll wait."

His mother had the truth of it. Cassian hadn't noticed at first, not with how voraciously he'd tucked into his own meal, but the moment his mother drew attention to it, the boy locked on.

Rosie had always eaten like a bird, picking at things and pinching in places. It had gotten better once they found out she was pregnant and he'd stopped worrying himself over it. They'd read the books together. Rosie knew how important it was to be properly fed for the sake of a healthy baby.

Nutrition was everything.

"You should have some more," he quietly encouraged, nodding toward her plate.

Did she tell his parents while he was out? Cassian didn't want to be too explicit just in case she hadn't yet, but the concern he felt brought his brows furrowing inward.

"Nonsense. You've hardly touched your dinner. We're in no rush. No real plans to speak of; we'll wait."

They'd wait? Nothing could have sounded more ominous to the girl than the simple polite statement of they'd wait for her to finish eating. Over the past few days, she'd managed a bite occasionally. A nibble of toast, a small wedge of an apple. A spoonful of peas. When she was certain Kari or Julian were watching, she'd focus on drinking to make it look like she was more engaged with her meal than she was.

She didn't want to eat. Couldn't. Nothing in her body, save the betraying growling of her stomach wanted nourishment.

"You should have some more."

Cassian was gesturing to her plate, but she forced a strained smile on her lips. "I'm just not very hungry tonight. I had a big lunch when I ran out to the market." An easy cover. She'd offered to go for Kari to pick up a few things for dinner and tomorrow's breakfast. For all they knew she'd stopped in the park and ate a sandwich on her way there.

She turned, not waiting for his response and tossed her napkin into the bin while she stored her plate in the icebox. He could have it tomorrow for lunch if he wanted so it wouldn't go to waste. Very aware of the eyes that might be on her, she instead busied herself with starting the dishes. Kari had said they didn't have any big plans for the night, which meant Cass was likely to be sent back to his room where his mum could be sure he wasn't overdoing it.

Maybe after this, when they'd all finished their radio program and nightly routine she'd head up and climb out Justine's window. In the days following Cassian's return home, with little to do while she waited for him to recover, she'd found a way up to the roof of the home. A brick that stuck out just a little further than the others, giving her the leverage she needed to lunge for the ivy trellis.

She wasn't healed yet. Her hands stung every time she went for the climb and her lower stomach still cramped as she neared the end of her ordeal. But it was a nice escape. A way for her to feel not so confined within the walls of a home that weren't her own.

She glanced up at Cassian again as she began scrubbing. He was doing so much better, apparently recovering faster than she'd ever thought he would. It warmed her to know that perhaps this was all he needed - a chance to be a kid again, to let his parents dote on him and feel the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders. Back in France, he'd spiraled, confessing that he wasn't happy, that he was struggling so bad that potions were beginning to feel like his only release from the world that chained him into daily misery.

He hadn't been ready to be a man, a husband or...a father. He was still a boy that needed his mother's love and reassurance. That still needed his father's protection and guidance.

Was it a bad thing? She didn't think it was, but it still hurt on some level that she didn't know how to express.

"Are you going back up to bed?" she asked, her voice light and easy as she set aside a pot and reached for another. She smiled at Kari, "Think he's going a little stir-crazy."

His parents didn't think anything of Rosie's words. A big lunch while out at the market, big enough that it left her unable to eat the, admittedly, bulky meal she had helped his mother to prepare. Even Cassian, at the tail end of his indulgence, could admit that it would've been a lot had she had everything on her plate but...

Just like that, everyone moved on.

Before he could ask what she'd eaten – to make sure it was nutritional and enough for her to skip this hearty meal – she was already up and tackling the dishes. Not for the first time, Cassian got the feeling she was keeping something from him, but the sensation was so vague that it could have as easily been mistaken for him reading too much into things that weren't there. What reason would she have to keep something from him? What could she possibly be holding onto? If he thought about it too much, the boy began to feel ridiculous.

Paranoid even.

They'd both been through something that most reasonable people would consider traumatic. If Rosie seemed a little off, well...shouldn't that be expected? His wife hadn't been hospitalised, but that was no measure of well-being. It was her father who'd come to get them and her own family who'd turned their wands on her. They both knew it would come, but he imagined it must have still been devastating when it happened.

Thinking about the relief he felt at seeing his parents again, Cassian couldn't imagine looking at them with anything but a deep love and desire to never see them leave again. Rosie and her family had never been that close, not her parents anyway. Cass used to think that his relationship with his father was strained, but it didn't hold a candle to the Laurences'. Even when it came to his mother, it still couldn't compare.

"Are you going back up to bed? Think he's going a little stir-crazy."

"No," he said, sounding a bit absentminded. "No, I was thinking about—"

"Bed," his mother said, enunciating each letter as she took him by the shoulders and spun him to face the direction of the stairs.

"Kari," his father protested as he stood. The man walked over to the sink, thanking Rosie as he deposited his plate. He'd had a little left when she'd insisted on avoiding the conversation by getting up to be useful.

"Just one more night, Julian," she pleaded, even as she ushered Cassian off. "Just a little more time for him to recover."

"The boy's fine."

"Let him be fine in the morning. Go."

---

Saturday, June 3, 1922
6:00 AM

The door gave a lazy groan as it creaked open. It was early for a Saturday, but it was also his best chance. While Cassian's mother enjoyed being a powerhouse during the week, she tended to allow herself the indulgence of remaining in bed a little longer on the weekends when he was home and not rushing off to sell his soul to the ministry.

Cassian had been careful when he snuck from his room, wincing not from pain but from the micro noises that seemed to be amplified in the quiet house. It was almost as if he were being taunted, dared to make it to his wife without being banished back to his bedroom.

Most functioning adults would find it insulting to still be ordered around by their parents and to be separated by their own spouse. Cass was in the thick of it but had never given it real thought. He welcomed the childishness of sneaking and the low stakes of getting caught when compared to what faced them over in France. Over there, getting caught wouldn't earn them a stern wag of a finger. At 5 1/2 Temple Meadow, nothing was so serious.

"Rosie?" he called softly when he entered. The boy carefully closed the door behind him before casting his gaze around the room. She'd never been a late sleeper, but he couldn't say what might have changed while he'd been held prisoner in his own room.

"Hey...you awake?"

Cassian moved quietly toward the bed, not wanting to startle her awake in case she really was asleep.

Back to bed he went, both Cass and his father protesting the necessity of anymore enforced recovery time, but Kari won out. Rosalie couldn't help the genuine amusement that crossed her features, offering her husband a sweet 'goodnight' as he went.

It had crossed her mind, the first few nights he was home, to try and sneak into his room. To crawl beneath the sheets with him and let his warmth comfort her to sleep. But the want to respect his parents prevailed, along with the simple fact that she knew Cass and having her in his bed would lead him to wanting her touch.

With that came explanations and tears she wasn't ready to shed. Disappointment she wasn't ready to see. Hatred that she feared would come the moment she uttered the words.

She smiled at Julian as he handed her his plate, taking it from him easily. They hadn’t really spoken much, not on their own. Only little things here and there, and usually when Kari was a part of the conversation. She hoped that might change someday. Maybe, eventually, they could have some kind of relationship that didn’t feel so tense. One where he didn’t look at her and immediately have to think about what her family had done, or what loving her had almost cost Cassian.

Her family had hurt Cassian in ways that couldn't be tidied away with apologies or quiet helpfulness in the kitchen, and she suspected some of the anger he felt was directed towards her whether intentional or not. It was just something she'd have to learn to make peace with.

One of many things, she guessed.

---

Saturday, June 3, 1922
6:00 AM

Another restless night punctuated by headaches and flashes of nightmares she'd sooner forget. Another night of listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the home she'd been kindly welcomed into, analyzing every snap of creak that settled within the walls.

The ceiling was becoming a close confidant, all of her thoughts and musings directed to the plaster and beams above her as she laid there through the hours, contemplating her life and where she went from here. It knew her best of everyone, having witnessed all her dark thoughts, her silent tears, her manic moments where she climbed out the window as though height would offer her some sort of reprieve from all that haunted her.

It wasn't that she didn't want to be here, or didn't appreciate what Julian and Kari were doing for her. They owed her nothing and offered her more than she could have ever hoped for. Rather it was her. Her mind, her heart, her soul that cried out into the room, wanting escape from everything that reminded her of who she was, what she'd had, what had been ripped from her.

She wasn't wallowing, but she was hurting, so terribly that she didn't know what to do with the pain anymore except swallow it and keep pushing.

It's what she had always done, wasn't it?

Night gave way to the first beams of dawn, but her eyes didn't move from the ceiling, waiting for it to somehow open up and free her from the prison she'd condemned herself to.

"Rosie?"

She didn't move, even when she heard the door close behind him, blinking slowly as she tried to pull herself back into the present.

"Hey...you awake?"

"Yeah," she answered softly, taking a deep breath and pulling herself upright in the bed. She didn't smile, but pulled the blankets back for him so he could crawl in next to her. She sighed a bit, settling herself into the cooler half of the bed that had remained unoccupied and swallowed hard.

It was the first time they'd been alone since that horrible night, and she knew what it meant. It meant they were finally going to have a moment to talk amongst themselves, and it meant that all the hard things she'd been keeping inside were going to have to finally be brought out into the open.

She wasn't ready. She didn't know if she ever would be.

"Strange to be sneaking around like this, huh?" she asked, fixing the blankets around him as she tilted her head against the headboard. "It doesn't feel real sometimes, you know?"

He wasn't surprised to find her awake. While neither of them were ridiculously early risers in the best of situations, both tended to grow restless if lying in bed for too long unless otherwise engaged. The week past was the first time in over a year (not counting her stay in the hospital over in Alençon) where they hadn't shared a bed and hadn't been able to find some form of comfort in each other's warmth.

He didn't realise just how much he'd missed it until he was slipping beneath the covers next to her. The scent of cherry blossoms engulfed him, replacing the older and more familiar scents of his sister's room as he moved in close.

"Strange to be sneaking around like this, huh?"

"Yeah..." Like her, he rested his head against the headrest, casting his gaze toward the ceiling. Memories persisted of the days when the room was otherwise occupied, when it smelled constantly of perfumes that Justine was most keen to try. The sound of old records used to spill out into the hall, sometimes loud enough to penetrate his room. Like every self-centred teenage girl, his sister believed that everyone enjoyed her tastes and held equal interest in her indulgences. After she left, the silence in the house was deafening. He'd spent many afternoons wishing he could hear the melodies of Joe Hayman and Henry Burr.

Cassian felt a twinge of something twisting in his chest. It was an old longing.

So much was different. Even the way he viewed being caught was different. It might have exasperated him in the past – caused him no end of grief – but since getting home...it was the greatest and safest thrill. Being chided by his mother...receiving a sharp look from his father – when compared to everything they'd faced, it was a treat.

"I like it. I mean...I guess I don't like the sneaking. Don't like that my mother thinks I've turned into an egg or that I haven't seen much of you." He paused, his gaze sinking to her. She was right there. The first rays of morning bathed her, brightening her blonde strands, and for a moment, Cassian remembered what true happiness was.

"I guess I just...like not being the one having to think about it." Being told what to do, being managed, not needing to make the decisions for a little. It made him feel almost light.

"But I know what you mean. I keep expecting to wake up back in that clearing...or back in Alençon." Back in the waking nightmare that had shown no signs of ending.

"What's going on with you? Haven't been able to check on you."

There was a lot that he hadn't been able to do from his bed, but now that his strength was back, the boy was hoping to fix that. It started with his wife and making sure she was okay. Physically, he saw the scars, but he was worried about any that might have run deeper.

Rosie had always been a quiet person. Whether it was shyness or preferring to listen to what others had to say, the soft silence she sometimes hid behind was as innate to her as her blue eyes. She'd never wanted to be the center of attention, never wanted to be the one making a scene. With time, as she became aware that her voice was an asset and not a burden, Rosalie had stepped into the center of her own wants and needs with increasing regularity, offering her thoughts and opinions openly with those she trusted.

But it was still a shield she wielded, falling into old patterns of selective quiet when she was uncomfortable or feeling out of place.

Cassian's presence was warm in that familiar way it had always been. He looked the same, his soft scent of cinnamon and books having returned, washing out the smell of the hospital and antiseptic. It felt like years since they'd shared space, not just a bed, and she was having a hard time trying to decipher why this felt so strange.

Maybe it was because Rosalie felt a profound change and emptiness inside of her, while Cassian...she didn't know. She couldn't put into words what this felt like.

It made her angrier. She didn't know at what.

"I guess I just...like not being the one having to think about it."

Her eyes remained on his, her face expressionless but she thought she understood. It was what she'd been gathering for the past week since he was home, and maybe even before then. It took her back to that park bench when she'd stared into the night, wondering at what point she had started feeling so alone in the adult world she'd stepped into.

Cassian had never fully stepped into it with her, and he was finally home where he didn't have to face the reality that he hadn't been as ready as he'd thought he was.

"But I know what you mean. I keep expecting to wake up back in that clearing...or back in Alençon."

She wished she could. She wanted nothing more than to wake up in Alençon, in the bed that was hers, in the flat that was hers. She wanted to wake up and realize this had all been a nightmare; that she was still pregnant and that she didn't have to grapple with the reality that her father had destroyed their life with a smile on his face.

That while Cassian had parents that loved and cared for him, she had parents that were happy to see her tortured or even dead because of her disobedience.

Was it any wonder they were on such different wavelengths?

"What's going on with you? Haven't been able to check on you."

Her lips parted as she sighed, her eyes glancing away from him briefly, scouring the room as though it had the answer as to where she should start. She couldn't very well keep everything from him and didn't want to, but there was so much to try and reconcile that it all flooded her at once.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," she said slowly, bringing her eyes back to his as she drew her lips into her mouth, feeling the tension within her rising. "I'm not okay, if that's what you're asking, but I'm sure that's not really a surprise."

This wasn't his fault. None of this was. She had to remind herself that any anger she felt at the moment was misplaced and not his to own.

"It's just been hard, trying to figure this all out. And your parents have been really wonderful but..." she shrugged. "I just feel like none of this is real, and if its not real how am I supposed to accept it?"

Even before she answered, it was clear she wasn't okay. This wasn't something Cassian had debated on the walk over. The boy knew firmly that something was wrong. It wasn't in any sort of airy, "Well, we just suffered some trauma; it's expected" way but specific, albeit unnamed. Rosie had the look that said something was gnawing away at her insides, something she'd been keeping to herself until she no longer could. It didn't manifest in any sort of rash confession but in the lack of her expressions.

Cassian had to remind himself of the difficulties they'd faced in the last week and how thoroughly they'd had their new life overturned. It was the only way to prevent himself taking her response personally. The boy reasoned that there was a third, invisible force in the room that had stolen her attention and whatever small joy would've come with seeing him.

There were other explanations, ones he wasn't trying to think about before he was done checking up on her.

Lying on his back in his room, there were times when it was all he could think about. Cass couldn't say he'd blame her if he found out she was also thinking them.


"I'm not sure what you want me to say. I'm not okay, if that's what you're asking, but I'm sure that's not really a surprise."

His eyes hadn't left her, even when she looked away. Now that they'd returned to his, he felt a certain helplessness creeping in. It would've been so easy to tell himself that he was only being sensitive and that he was reading too deeply into things that weren't an actual concern, but Cassian had woken up in a world where he no longer knew who he was meant to be or even how to be. If he was laid up in bed and hadn't been able to save her, was he still a protector? If his parents housed them and his mother fed them, was he still a provider? Did he still count as a husband if he'd been relegated to someone's son?

Cass didn't think he was ready for the answer to any of those questions or what they fundamentally said about him.

That was why it'd been so much easier to let his mother dote and to believe that his father had already taken care of things. For just a moment, it absolved him of the sins.

"No, it's not," Cassian admitted. It was clear as day that his wife wasn't okay. There wasn't a version of him, conscious or otherwise, that could believe otherwise.

"It's just been hard, trying to figure this all out. And your parents have been really wonderful but... I just feel like none of this is real, and if its not real how am I supposed to accept it?"

For a moment, he let her words linger on their own in the silence that fell between them after.

"You feel that way, too, huh?"

In many ways, he felt the same, but where his wife found it difficult to accept it all, Cassian clung to it. His brain still refused to process much of what had happened that evening in France, finding it easier to lose itself in the abstract and almost unfathomable nature of their sudden rescue. It wasn't something either had been eased into, nothing they'd watched be built brick by brick. One day they were in danger, and the next, they just...weren't. No transition, just a sudden, jarring change in the way their minds were meant to work. Cassian's mind took the leap without doing the work – unwilling to do the work – but his wife's stoicism was forcing him back down.

"What part of it doesn't feel real to you? The fact we're safe now," a thing he was still struggling to get his body to believe, "or...that your family had a hand in all this?"

Perhaps that was the best place to start.

"Neither."

It wasn't that simple, though she wished it were. She wished her anger, her disbelief, her grief all laid at the feet of being safe or that she couldn't fathom what her family had done. In truth, both of those realities were easily accepted and filed away in her mind, any shock long since discarded in those aspects.

She shook her head, dispelling the idea entirely. "We knew what my family would do," she said, without a flicker of emotion in her voice, perhaps to protect herself from feeling the pain of it. "Julia warned us over and over. She knew because it had happened to her. We just didn't want to listen." It didn't mean that she had made peace with any of it. Knowing her father and uncle could be so cruel - that they could pit her beloved cousin against them just to make it hurt a little more - had still struck her in a way she couldn't fathom.

Because she would never do such a thing. She couldn't ever imagine putting an angry hand to her child, much less torturing them.

Leo Laurence would. Gretchen would. Arthur would. They would murder the boy she loved right in front of her and feel nothing for the girl that screamed and begged as her heart fell right out of her chest.

"I should have never let us be so reckless. I'm sorry I didn't do better for you." She wished she could take it back. Knowing what she did now, having experienced what they had, she knew she would have never run away with him if she could change it. She would have never let him leave his family behind. She would have never been so careless as to get pregnant, knowing what was waiting for them in the shadows.

Was all of this her fault? No, not nearly. But she could have prevented it if she'd simply said no that night on the tower.

"I had to do things...to get us out of there, Cass." Things she'd have to live with for the rest of her life. Would he hate her for it? Look at her differently? Instead of his wife, would he see a murderer? A girl that had changed so dramatically in the matter of seconds that she could cast an Unforgiveable without even thinking about it?

She knew how she felt about herself. "The burns on my hands aren't from anything my dad did. I did it to myself. I burned my way out of the bindings. And somehow I was able to throw them back and stop them from casting on us." She took a slow deep breath through her nose. "I disarmed my dad. I don't remember what I did to my uncle, and then the next thing I knew Thomas was rushing for you."

Her eyes lifted to find his again. "I killed him." The words cracked in her throat as her eyes softened and her chest folded in on itself. The grief of it all took her again, but she refused to cry or give life to it. Instead, she buried it, as hard as she could, as far down as she could.

She didn't want to be a mess anymore. She didn't want to be soft. She wanted to be untouchable, stoic, and as strong as she'd been in the clearing. She wanted to let the anger consume her so entirely that the pain and sorrow she felt were swallowed within it, never able to be felt again.

"I used the killing curse. I didn't even think about it. And then I apparated us here. To your parents." Her voice grew quieter with each word until it was barely above a whisper. "I can't reconcile who I was just a week ago with who I am now. I can't believe that we had everything and they ripped it from us. And now..."

She trailed off for a moment, looking around the room again. "Now I'm just supposed to be okay? I'm supposed to just fall into some sort of domestic bliss like they didn't destroy our lives? Like they didn't almost take you from me?" Her breathing became less fluid, more frantic as she gripped the sheets between her fists.

She stopped herself. "I'm sorry," she said, forcing herself to calm down. "I haven't even asked you if you're alright, or how you're actually handling things." When Cassian had arrived home, she'd taken a strong backseat, allowing his mother to be the caretaker and the one to fuss over him. She'd let herself fall into the background where normally she'd be overly concerned with him and his well-being.

Knowing Kari was taking on that role had given Rosie the space to spiral with her own thoughts and actions, having nothing else to focus on.

She reached for his hand. "I'm not angry with you. I'm just...angry." Her shoulders slumped, as her body weighed heavily against the headboard. "I'm sorry Cassian. I wish I could take it all back."

"Neither."

Neither.

Huh.

Cassian tried to listen, unaware of what third thing lay heavy while it weighed on the mind of his wife. The more he listened, the more it sounded an awful lot like...regret. She said they didn't want to listen – they didn't – and that she shouldn't have...what...?

"Rosie..."

What was she saying? Of course they'd been warned. Of course they'd run anyway. That had always been them. From the moment they'd met, Cassian had found a kindred spirit, a soul that burned as bright as his did, refusing to be either tethered or tamed. The boy wasn't a Gryffindor by any means and could admit to being idealistic in many ways, but it was the thing that had made the most sense. There wasn't a future where they stayed, did what they were told, and Rosie still ended up "Mrs. McCormick". There wasn't a reality where biding their time would've ended in a different result. Last night, last week, a year from now, her father would've tracked them down. They'd never have been able to find normal jobs that would've had them living differently, and her father would never have been thrilled to learn there was a baby on the way.

They'd been dealt a bad hand and they'd done the best they could with it. Things hadn't worked out, no, but in his book, it was still better than surrender.

In his.

Rosie sounded like she was singing a different tune.

"Stop," he all but pleaded, afraid of where else the conversation might go when it was already off to such a great start. "Rosie...what happened...that had nothing to do with you – not the way you're trying to take it. You didn't tell your father to track us down; you weren't sitting there in that room when they decided it was time to move. We didn't—" Reckless, she'd said. Reckless. He sucked in a gentle breath, trying not to work himself into another massive headache but unable to dislodge the ever-tightening dread. "You're right, it was reckless, and I'm sorry if...if...in the end none of it felt worth it."

That was the bigger issue, wasn't it? If she started to believe they should never have run and that they'd have been better off where they were with her engaged to someone else and him counting down the days until he'd lost her. He hadn't made it worth her while, and all he could do now was ignore the sting of such a revelation. If that was how she felt, then what had it all been for?

He could hardly focus on what came next. It took his brain several seconds to catch up to her confession.

Killing curse. Killed someone. Rosie.

"It's...that's fine." Cass didn't want to handwave it all away or make light of it, but he also didn't believe there was anything for his wife to beat herself up about. "They're the ones who came to our home. They tried to kill us. Merlin, Rosie, I know it sounds selfish, but I'd be lying in a ditch somewhere now or buried in a shallow grave if you hadn't saved us. I'm telling you, this isn't on you. They brought the fight to us. You finished it." And if it ever came to it, there wasn't a court in all of England that would see differently. The pair had fled the country. They'd done everything they could to create distance, but those men hunted them down like dogs, and it sounded like they'd gotten what they were looking for in the end.

Cassian shook his head the moment she tried turning things to him after confessing what a hard time she was having. "I'm fine," he supplied quickly, dismissively. "You know you haven't done anything wrong, don't you?" He paused a moment, wanting the words to settle. "Remember on the docks, when those men attacked. Two of them never left alive, and you said...you said that I'd only done what was necessary to keep us safe. This isn't any different."

He let her take his hand, watching the many emotions swirling beneath the wall of her stoicism. She said she wasn't made at him, but, to him, her body said otherwise.

And then she said it again.

"I'm sorry Cassian. I wish I could take it all back."

"Stop saying it. Please. I don't want you taking it back – any of it. I'm sorry I couldn't do a better job protecting us; I am. I should've made the wards stronger, or...or known better spells. Anything. I should've been able to stand between you and them, not leave you to rescue me, but...I don't...it's still good. We're still good. We're here. We can rebuild. Isn't that what matters most?"

He was doing what she knew he would. In some ways, it was comforting, knowing that not everything had been so fundamentally changed that Cassian could still try to absolve her of her own culpability. It was what he always did when she felt even the slightest bit of guilt - no matter how much of it was justified. He was forever trying to protect her from herself, from her own mind and her struggle with self-forgiveness.

But it felt hollow amongst all she knew to be true. He was right, she didn't ask Leo to chase them to the edges of the world. She didn't ask for this to become their reality. She hadn't sent him a letter and invited him down to torture her husband for fun.

But...she knew he'd do it, and for that she did have culpability. It wasn't an abstract knowing for her; the bogeyman in the far reaches of shadows. A threat but never materialized. She knew better. Had known better, and still took that chance with Cassian anyway.

"You're right, it was reckless, and I'm sorry if...if...in the end none of it felt worth it."

"That's not what I meant," she said quickly, her eyes falling away from him with a small shake of her head. "You're worth it. We're worth it." She gathered her knees to her chest, bundling the sheets tighter around her. "But you almost dying, Thomas..." Their baby. It made the math of 'worth it' nearly impossible. "I can't wrap my head around all this and make it make sense, Cass, because none of it does."

Did he understand that? Did he understand that all her pain wasn't a judgment of him, but the internal war she was fighting with herself?

She was drowning, and had been since they'd arrived at St. Mungo's. When the action had stopped, when the world had slowed and her heart kept thundering, it all had crashed down around her. The reality of the situation, how lifeless Cassian had looked, the cramping in her stomach, the horror etched on Kari's face, the light going out of Thomas's.

And for a week, she'd dealt with it quietly. Holding it all in, letting herself suck in watery breath after watery breath, her lungs burning with the realization of it all, as her heart broke itself in two. Waiting for Cassian to surface so she could drown in peace.

It sounded so pathetic when she let herself sit in the idea. How weak. How brooding. She had never been one of those that sat letting herself wallow in her own hurt. She'd always managed to pull herself forward and put on a brave face. But this...how did she keep pretending when she didn't even know what her normal looked like anymore?

"It's...that's fine."

His response was so abrupt and cavalier that it almost felt like he slapped her. Fine? Rosalie's eyelids fluttered as she took a deep breath, trying to understand what he meant. How...how could any of this be fine? She'd killed someone, and not just killed. She'd used an Unforgiveable. The detriment of the curse was right there in the label.

Unforgiveable.

The word rang through her mind with cruel clarity. There were some things in this world that weren't meant to be touched, that changed a person the moment they were breathed into life. Avada Kedavra hadn't just been uttered from her lips. She had felt it, the chill of it as it rushed down her arm. She'd watched as it raced from her hand and into the heart of her cousin, seizing it, collapsing it in front of her eyes.

Fine.

How easily he said it. How desperately, perhaps. Cassian had always been like that, always standing between her and the worst parts of herself, waving away the monsters as though love alone could make them harmless.

But this monster had her face.

Her throat tightened as she looked down at her hand, at the raw, angry burns still healing across her palm. They didn’t feel like proof of survival. They felt like evidence. “It isn’t fine,” she said quietly, though there was no anger in it now. Only exhaustion. Only the hollow ache of having to explain the shape of a wound he could not see. “I know what you’re trying to say. I know you’re trying to make it easier for me, but it isn’t fine, Cass.”

"You know you haven't done anything wrong, don't you? Remember on the docks, when those men attacked. Two of them never left alive, and you said...you said that I'd only done what was necessary to keep us safe. This isn't any different."

Her hand tightened around his, wanting him to understand the depth of what she was feeling. Needing to feel tethered to him and the room that held them.

“Maybe it was necessary. Maybe if I hadn’t done it, you’d be dead and I’d be somewhere worse than this. I know that. I know.” Her voice trembled despite how hard she tried to steady it. "But it doesn't make me feel less like I crossed some line I can't come back from." She took a shaky breath, steadying herself as she forced herself to look at him again. She needed him to know that for her it was different.

"I loved Thomas." Her voice finally broke as the tears came, her lip trembling as she finally spoke her cousin's name. "I loved him so much. More than...more than the others. He was my best friend growing up. Sometimes my only friend." It would be like Freddie suddenly turning on Cassian without rhyme or reason that he could conjure. "It's not the same. Those men on the docks were monsters. They wanted to rape me. They wanted to kill you. They were strangers. Thomas had never hurt me in his life. He kept our secret and told me all of his."

It didn't make sense why or how Arthur had turned him against them. And for a brief moment, she had seen the heartbreak in his eyes before everything ended. It was more than she could bear to think about.

She wiped quickly at her tears and shook her head. He had breezed right by whether he was alright or not, but that was Cassian. There was no use trying to focus on him when he was hyper-focused now.

She heard the desperation in his voice and she wanted to answer it with reassurance, but she hadn't any left to give. She couldn't even reassure herself anymore. Did she love him? More than anyone or anything in the world, and it was why she was so angry with herself. She'd put the person she loved most directly in harm's way.

"Stop saying it. Please. I don't want you taking it back – any of it. I'm sorry I couldn't do a better job protecting us; I am. I should've made the wards stronger, or...or known better spells. Anything. I should've been able to stand between you and them, not leave you to rescue me, but...I don't...it's still good."

"Cassian," she choked out, "It's not your fault. Your wards didn't fail." She sighed thinking back to their neighbor and how foolish she'd been. She should have known somehow in all of it. "I forgot to put them up when I ran out of the apartment. The neighbor - she screamed for me. I think it was part of the plan they had. Got her involved or something." She had failed him. He had told her over and over to keep the wards up, not to let her guard down for even a moment, and she had.

None of this was his failure.

"We're still good. We're here. We can rebuild. Isn't that what matters most?"

She hesitated, her mouth opening and closing for a moment as she tried to make herself say it, but it only broke her heart all over again. "We're here," she agreed with a soft nod, "And I love you. But some things can't be rebuilt." Another series of tears streamed down her face.

"I lost the baby."

Rosie was right.

The longer Cassian sat there listening to the many invisible ways his wife hurt, the more...helpless he felt. It wasn't a new feeling by any means. Since they'd taken the leap of faith and run off into that summer night with Freddie and 'good vibes', there had been no end to the helplessness the boy felt when it came to his wife and the life they were trying to build. He couldn't help the tiny flat in the lower class of Allonnes or that only a glass factory had wanted to hire him and that better work was beyond them while they hid. He couldn't help the bills that only seemed to grow; couldn't – to an extent – help the hurt he'd caused Rosie when they'd begun to drift apart because of their day-and-night work schedules and the psychopath that was Maddy.

When Rosie was attacked, there was nothing he could do but get her to a hospital and wait outside for them to tell him she was better.

He couldn't...he couldn't stop the cravings.

Now here they were. He couldn't stop her father or her family and couldn't chase away those dark clouds that robbed her of her sense of self while she sat next to him in his sister's bed.

If all that was true, then...what could he do? Sit there and wait for it to pass?

“Maybe it was necessary. Maybe if I hadn’t done it, you’d be dead and I’d be somewhere worse than this. I know that. I know. But it doesn't make me feel less like I crossed some line I can't come back from."

Cassian listened.

Back in France, when Rosie had tried to explain her feelings regarding Maddy and the offensive lunches, he'd been so busy on the defence that he hadn't been able to hear her. He didn't want to make that mistake again but already had in some ways. She was describing a murder, and he was too busy trying to make sure she didn't take the blame for herself. Could anyone blame him? It broke his heart to see her like that, so hollow and uncertain while a deep pain ravaged her insides. Some days, the boy felt certain he might fight 'God' if it meant making her feel better.

"I loved Thomas. I loved him so much. More than...more than the others. He was my best friend growing up. Sometimes my only friend. It's not the same. Those men on the docks were monsters. They wanted to rape me. They wanted to kill you. They were strangers. Thomas had never hurt me in his life. He kept our secret and told me all of his."

Cassian couldn't imagine having to kill someone he was that close to. Could he kill his brother, even after he'd left one evening without a trace or so much as a glance back? Could he do it to Freddie? The thought churned his stomach, twisting it into painful knots.

"I...I guess I don't know what to say..." he admitted quietly. Cassian reached for her burnt hands, gently running his thumbs against the backs of them. "I don't know how everything got so fucked up...how...everything could go to shit...so bad and I hate how much of this got dumped on you because...I don't know how to take it off." He would if he could, in a heartbeat. If there was a spell or a potion, he'd never leave her to wallow the way he so powerlessly had to.

Cass sucked in a deep breath, feeling the heaviness of the past several months settling on him again. "But you're still you. All the parts that matter, all the little things. It might not feel like it, but she's still there. You're still the girl who's got my whole heart. The rest...the rest we can figure out."

"Cassian. It's not your fault. Your wards didn't fail."

...What?

"I forgot to put them up when I ran out of the apartment. The neighbor - she screamed for me. I think it was part of the plan they had. Got her involved or something."

...Mrs...Rousseau...?

"We're here. And I love you. But some things can't be rebuilt."

"...Rosie..."

"I lost the baby."

His jaw set. The blood drained from his face, all of it pooling in his centre. Cassian felt a distant burning inside him, a fire he knew was raging but had no nerves to feel. The world was ringing, high-pitched and incessant. It drowned out the sounds of the birds that liked to perch on the tree outside Justine's room. It drowned out the rhythmic in-and-out breathing with Rosie that he'd fallen in sync with. Suddenly, Cassian couldn't feel her hands in his. Her warmth that once flooded him deserted him now, leaving a bitter chill that set him on edge.

Suddenly, it all made sense

Rosie spoke about the murder...about her father...about being unsure...but it wasn't until she said...that that everything fell into place. Her grief and anger made sense in a way that was visceral for him.

Their baby. They may as well have killed her.

His limbs were stiff with the adrenaline that coursed through him.

Cassian dropped her hands, carefully but with finality. "I...shit...I know this is a lot and that you probably need me right here, but I...there's something I've gotta do. He eased himself out of the bed, ignoring the terrible pinching in his chest when he did. "If mum asks, will you tell her I went for a walk?"

He didn't know what to say, and somehow it was comforting. It gave her the reassurance that the way she felt, the ache and hole inside of her wasn't something so easily filled and that she wasn't in some strange purgatory alone. It meant that some small part of this - her not knowing how to process things - was relatable and understandable.

It was a small relief she didn't think she'd get. He was listening, attentively giving her the space to express what she had been holding in for what felt like an eternity. It wasn't that Kari hadn't given her the space to cry and be vulnerable with her. In some ways, Rosalie didn't feel she had earned that sort of care or that she had any real right to it. The girl understood that care and empathy didn't have to be transactional and it never was with her - when she was giving it.

But Rosie had grown up with the understanding that she had to earn approval. Earn care and love and acceptance. It was a hard thing to shake, even after all these years with Cassian proving to her otherwise.

And so silencing her pain and feelings had reigned supreme the last week. It wasn't anyone's fault. It just all had felt so...not trivial but misplaced with all that had happened to Cassian. She wanted the love and care to be on him. He needed it so much more than she did.

"But you're still you. All the parts that matter, all the little things. It might not feel like it, but she's still there. You're still the girl who's got my whole heart. The rest...the rest we can figure out."

Her chest tightened, but rather than in that aching hurt she'd felt over and over all week, it was warm and soft. Her amazing theatre boy. He'd always been able to find the words that soothed even her most self-deprecating thoughts, knowing exactly what to say to make the sting lessen. He had a way of reaching into her and touching the parts of her that no one else was able to, and in a moment like this when she felt so lost and at odds with who she thought herself to be and what she had done, it was the sort of absolution that she needed.

He still loved her. He didn't see her as a monster. He didn't see her like them. Every time the girl looked at her reflection and saw the resemblance of her family, she had wondered - once Cassian knew, would he see them instead of her? Would he forget her heart while she tried desperately to put it back together?

It was the gift of being seen again, of being reassured that despite what had happened, he still saw her, the real her. It made her wonder if maybe it would lead to her being able to see herself in a real way again eventually.

And then, she watched as all the color drained from his face, his hands releasing hers at the news of the baby. She was quiet, giving him the time he needed to let the words settle on him. It had all happened a week ago for her, and she still hadn't really accepted it. She didn't know if she ever would.

How could she? The baby that she had wanted and already loved - Cassian's baby - was gone and there was no bringing him back. They could try again, later down the road if they wanted to, but it would never be that baby. There were no words to express the horror of it all, and she didn't blame him for not immediately saying anything.

"I...shit...I know this is a lot and that you probably need me right here, but I...there's something I've gotta do."

She watched him, blue eyes wide with questions, wanting to know what it was and fearing what it was all at the same time. She knew her husband, knew he had already been struggling before the attack. He moved from the bed, the mattress lifting slightly as his weight receded.

She wanted to apologize to him, to tell him how she had tried in futility to stop the bleeding, that the healers at Mungo's had told her beforehand there was nothing to do but wait anyway. But she stayed quiet, understanding that whatever was happening was something Cassian needed to do.

"If mum asks, will you tell her I went for a walk?"

She nodded, wiping the last of her tears from her cheeks, before climbing from the bed and wrapping her arms carefully around his waist. She laid her head on his chest, closing her eyes at the sound of rhythmic thundering. She drank in his scent, wanting to commit it to her memory. She didn't know where he was going or what he was going to do.

She worried. Potions, drugs. All the things that scared her. It didn't make sense, but she didn't have the heart, the energy or even the discernment to try and stop him. She had to trust that he really was just going for a walk to get some air. To try and settle his thoughts.

"Don't be long, okay?" she whispered before reaching up to cup his face. "I need you." She kissed him, once, before turning and climbing back into the bed. She rolled over, pulling the covers over her head as she heard the door close behind him.

Leaving might not have been the right answer.

Rosie needed him there, holding her through the loss, assuring her in whatever way he could. His mother would worry more than he was sure he could imagine. It was unconscionable to disappear so soon after being back on his feet given the gravity of all that had transpired.

Stay inside.

Be a good son. Try to be a good husband.

He needed to go. Of all the voices swirling around in his head, the one that screamed loudest was the one that pointed to Rosie's devastation and all the things she couldn't wrap her mind around. Her cousin was dead. Her father and uncle had, from what he'd heard, already been turned over to the MLE. Then there was her, the nosy old woman one apartment over. The woman who had stood in the same room as those men and had helped to ruin their lives. Cassian had always found it relatively easy to ignore her, having never taken to her the way Rosie had, but she'd insisted, and he would respond.

Cass cupped her face gently, returning the kiss with an unspoken promise. He couldn't change what had happened and wouldn't be able to bring their baby back. What he planned to do...maybe it wouldn't make any sort of difference, but in the moment, it was the only thing that mattered.

"You don't have to worry; I'll be back."

He would.

There was just something he had to do.

---

Sunday, June 4, 1922
1:14 PM

5 1/2 Temple Meadow; this was his stop. Cassian turned up the walkway, his body finally coming down from the impromptu trip he'd taken himself on in the last day. Cassian didn't have any business leaving the city, let alone the country, but there hadn't been any other choice – none that would've meant anything. He could've stayed in bed, comforted his wife...and had nothing more to offer her than vain platitudes and hollow promises of someday.

Someday what?

There was still a problem breathing in the world, and he'd taken care of it.

Cass approached the door carefully, listening for any signs that he might have to risk climbing through the window instead. His mother would be beside herself for a time, but then he knew she would be angry. His father would be disappointed. Rosie...he didn't know. He'd promised not to be long and then never came home.

The boy paused before the door, bracing himself as he rested his forehead against the solid oak. He sucked in a breath to steady himself. Cassian knew that he would have to face them and that he would have some explaining to do, but they weren't the sorts of answers he could give to them. How could he? After they'd tried so hard to protect him. Another breath, deeper, while he pulled himself together.

He nudged the door open, immediately flooded by the sounds and smells of home.

"Julian, is that you?" his mother called from the kitchen. "Did you find him?"

Him?

...Oh.

"It's...it's just me, mum."

Saturday, June 3, 1922
6:45 PM

It had been a long day and an even longer night. He had said he would be back. She had asked him not to be long. It should have been simple enough to believe him, to trust that he only needed air and space and whatever quiet Cassian needed to chase. But by the time dinner had come and gone without any sign of him, Rosalie felt herself edging dangerously close to panic.

Still, she held it together.

She kept her face calm as she helped with dinner, kept her hands busy with chopping and setting plates and clearing them again afterward. Distraction, she had found, was a useful friend when one’s thoughts were determined to become unbearable. If she focused on the dishes, on folding napkins, on wiping down counters that were already clean, she didn't have to think about how long he had been gone. She didn't have to imagine him alone somewhere, hurting or reckless or worse.

Julian and Kari weren't managing nearly as well.

They had been troubled enough that morning, when Rosie admitted over breakfast that Cassian had gone for a walk. By lunch, when they asked where he had gone and she had no answer to give them, their concern had sharpened into something openly exasperated. By dinner, the air in the house had grown tight and uneasy, stretched thin around the empty place at the table.

"You're sure he said nothing, Rosie? He's not healed yet and - "

"I wish he had," Rosie answered, her voice as shaky and uncertain as Kari's was, "I don't want him out there anymore than you do."

"You don't have any ideas of where he would have went?"

Rosie's eyes found Julian's, his expression strained, almost pleading with her to give him something, anything. A place. A reason. A thread he could pull until it led him to his son.

But she had nothing.

"Maybe the theatre," she said, though the answer felt useless the moment it left her mouth. "I don’t know. I really don’t." Her fingers tightened around the edge of her napkin. "I told him I lost the baby, and then he..."

Her throat closed around the rest of it.

He had looked at her.

It was what she remembered most clearly. Not what he said, not really. Just the way he had looked at her, as if the whole world had gone terribly quiet around him and he had been left sitting in the middle of it with nowhere to put the pain. She had never seen that flare in his eyes, that cold devastation that reflected her own.

"He said he’d be back."

Kari reached across the table and took her hand, her fingers warm and reassuring around Rosie’s own. It was kind. The sort that made her want to break apart because she didn't know what to do with it except cling to the warmth; not when she had spent the whole day silently wondering if she should have stopped him, followed him, screamed for help, done anything other than sit there and trust a promise made by a boy who had been bleeding from places no one else could see. Well before they'd even landed here.

Julian glanced toward the window again, toward the road beyond it, his jaw tense.

Rosie followed his gaze despite herself.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No familiar rattling at the door. No boy with a sheepish grin and apologies, his hair wind-swept and full of bullshit excuses.

Only the quiet road, empty and indifferent to the worries of a reckless boy's parents and his teenaged bride.

---

Sunday, June 4, 1922
1:14 PM

Julian had set out early, before the sun had risen, unable to sleep while his boy wandered the streets doing Merlin knew what. Rosalie had laid awake, heard him make his way down the hallway, Kari close behind him as they whispered harshly to one another in an effort not to wake the girl.

"Do you think he went to their castle?"

"No, no he's reckless sometimes. Doesn't think. But he's not stupid, Kari."

"I didn't say he was stupid. But he left right after she said..."

"It wouldn't make sense for him to go there."

"Then where?"

"I don't know! That's why I'm going out to look for him."

It had been a quiet morning after, Rosie doing her best to reassure Kari that Cassian wouldn't leave them behind without answers. That surely he'd come home soon, if Julian didn't find him first. Kari had agreed, settling herself in the living room with the Sunday radio program from the BBC, sounds of classical music filling the home. She had a basket of mending in her lap, though Rosalie had watched her stitch the same cuff three times and pull the thread loose twice after.

Every now and then she'd glance toward the window, wondering if the world would be merciful for once.

"He knows his way back," Kari had commented once, Rosalie knew more for herself than for the girl who had busied herself with labeling vials at the nearby table. Julian had been kind enough to pick her a few up on his way home from work earlier in the week, when Rosie had mentioned she wanted to work on her healing potions again.

It was something, she figured, to help her feel some sort of normalcy again. If she pushed herself back into the things that had been important to her, maybe she wouldn't fixate so much on everything that had gone wrong - and seemingly continued to.

"And Julian will find him if he's somewhere to be found."

Somewhere to be found. The words settled too heavily between them, as renewed worry flushed through the girl. What if he'd found someone to buy potions off of? What if he went to his old theatre group and got them there? What if his pain - or whatever chill she watched run through him - was too great for him to bear on his own and he'd gone too far again?

What if Julian didn't find him?

Kari put her mending down.

“I’m going to put the kettle on again.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Kari rose anyway, smoothing the front of her skirt with hands that were not quite steady. “But Julian will want tea when he gets back.”

When. Rosalie clung to the word with the hope that came from Kari's surety. "And Cassian will complain if it's cold."

Her lips parted, almost in protest, to remind Kari that Cassian wasn't a big fan of tea, never had been, and would probably prefer the pumpkin juice that waited in the icebox for him. But as her mother-in-law moved past her and into the kitchen, Rosie let the words die on her lips.

No reason to dissuade a worried mother wanting to care for her child, even if Rosie knew better.

The clang of the kettle on the stove was only drowned out by the sound of the front door opening. Both women immediately looked towards the entry hallway, unable to see who it was.

"Julian, is that you? Did you find him?"

"It's...it's just me, mum."

"Oh my God," Rosalie exclaimed. Kari rushed from the stove, but Rosie was faster, upsetting her glass vials as she jumped from the table and raced to the front door to find her husband standing there.

Healthy, whole, in one piece. She flung her arms around him, deep breaths of relief filling her lungs as she held him for a moment, looking him over. "Where have you been?! You said you'd be back and - " the panicked words flew from her lips as her hand rose to touch his face were a group of fresh scratches were red and inflamed. "What happened to you? Did someone hurt you?!"

Kari moved quickly, Rosie stepping to the side so his mother could look him over as well.

He heard the footsteps before he saw them coming. In that split second, Cassian understood something important. Whatever he did, he would have to sell it.

His mother would already be on edge over his impromptu overnight trip. Telling her he'd made it all the way to France might have her chaining him to his bed for the foreseeable future. The restlessness that had followed him home wouldn't allow that. And Rosie? He'd have to tell her; of course he would. He'd promised he wouldn't be long and that he'd be back. She'd said she needed him, but he hadn't been able to hear it right over the horrendous ringing that had been in his ears. Cass would never say he'd done it for her because he understood the pressure that might put on her, but she had a right to know why he hadn't been able to keep both promises.

Just...not when his mother was closing in second with a sprint from the kitchen. Later, they would talk. Now, he would perform.

It started with a sheepish grin, cheekiness fitting itself onto his features with the ease of a practised theatre boy who'd had to smile more often than he felt like it. "Lost track of time, sorry." He dropped a light kiss atop Rosie's head. It was outwardly effortless, but inside, it was all he could cling to as a grounding mechanism.

As his mother approached, he spun Rosie, positioning her between him and the woman while his grin grew wider.

"Ran into some of my old mates from the theatre. Didn't think we'd be out that long; hit up some of our old haunts. Guy stuff." It was a cavalier; the image of a boy who didn't know he'd left an entire household to panic over his absence. At the furrowing of his mother's brows, Cass appropriately turned his boyish recklessness into something more closely resembling remorse.

"I should've said something, I know – should've been back before the streetlights came on."

Cassian," his mother tried, but he cut her off quickly.

"Won't happen again; you've got my word, Mum."

For a moment, all Kari could do was stare at him, dumbstruck by the unbothered boy standing before her. There were many questions; he could see them in her eyes before they ever hit her lips. "Your father...has been scouring the entire city for you! Your wife! She told you – she shared something so personal and you...you..." Kari reached by Rosie to grab him firmly by the ear. It was the first time since the attack that she no longer treated him like a delicate egg. "You're unbelievable! Is that how we've raised you? You'll apologise and you'll start with Rosie."

"Ow ow ow! Mum! Take it easy!"

The harder he resisted, the harder she tugged, twisting his ear until it felt like it had caught fire.

"This poor girl has been so worried about you, and you've been out gallivanting with your bloody mates! Why didn't you take her with you? You don't think she'd like a trip out? You don't think she'd like some distraction? Cassian Thomas–"

"Mum!"

"Don't mum me! Where did you get those scratches?! It wasn't that Bradley boy, was it? Your father told me he's recently come back to the troupe."

"No one's seen Bradley since–"

The bruises, Cassian!" Her arm was almost bent unnaturally as she continued to twist. "You just wait until your father gets home. I won't beg to have you spared this time. Picking fights. Running the streets while Rosie's here."

"It wasn't a fight." He tried to ease her hand away, the action aggravating his stitches. "Saw a cat on the way home; stuck in one of those drains. Thought I could reach it. Turns out, it wasn't nearly so appreciative of the rescue. Bloody thing got me good."

He pulled himself at last from her grip, turning to Rosie as he placed a hand over Mrs. Rousseau's scratches. "It's not that bad, is it?" He shook his head. "Nevermind, nothing some alcohol can't fix. Sorry it took so long, gorgeous. Really. I lost track of time, and guess...I just wasn't thinking too straight."

He...lost track of time?

Rosalie stared at him, her hand still tracing the scratches along his face, but her expression changed from that of concerned to stunned disbelief.

He lost track of time?! For eighteen hours? Somewhere along the line while he was out and about he hadn't thought for a moment that perhaps it was getting dark out? His stomach hadn't growled letting him know he'd missed meals? Had he gone on such a fucking bender that he'd completely failed to notice the passage of time?

The spin took her by surprise. Rosie blinked, suddenly finding herself face-to-face with his mother instead. Was he - was he using her as a shield?!

"Ran into some of my old mates from the theatre. Didn't think we'd be out that long; hit up some of our old haunts. Guy stuff."

Guy stuff. Guy stuff? What did that mean? Girls? Partying? Cassian wasn't an adrenaline chaser like she was - not in the same way - so she couldn't imagine he was out there taking joyrides or doing something wild and reckless that teenage boys did.

Rosalie's head spun as fast she had and suddenly Kari reached by her to snatch Cassian by the ear. Rosie's eyes widened as she stepped quickly out of the way, having no interest in getting between a suddenly fed up mother and her son. She scolded him, and with every word Rosie realized...Kari was right.

Rosie had shared her deepest hurt - the hardest thing she'd ever had to share with him, and in response he'd gone out and partied with his friends for a day and a half. Had he even given a second thought to his wife who was waiting on him to hold her? Had he thought about his poor father and how Julian had already almost lost him three times over? Had he thought about his mother who had doted on him all week and through her entire self into nursing him back to health?!

He was unbelievable!

For the first time in a week, instead of the deep sorrow and rage that had taken over her body, Rosalie only felt annoyance and frustration for the boy who again, showed that he wasn't ready to step into the adult world in any meaningful way.

"This poor girl has been so worried about you, and you've been out gallivanting with your bloody mates! Why didn't you take her with you? You don't think she'd like a trip out? You don't think she'd like some distraction? Cassian Thomas–"

"And your mother has been in knots waiting on you to show your face!" Rosie stepped forward again, both women now in his immediate space. "Your poor dad was out before the sun came up, looking for you, worried that you'd gone and gotten yourself into the wrong sort of trouble!" Rosie hadn't scolded Cassian since they'd had their fight early in the year, but this seemed to call for it, and with his mother in agreement that he be read for filth, she had no qualms about it either.

"Saw a cat on the way home; stuck in one of those drains. Thought I could reach it. Turns out, it wasn't nearly so appreciative of the rescue. Bloody thing got me good."

Rosie clenched her jaw, jutting her lips out with so much frustration they could hang a picture on her lip. As angry as she was this...felt better than the silence. It felt better than Justine's nearly-empty bedroom. It felt better than a tense dinner table, all three wondering if Cassian still drew breath.

He drew breath. The audacity of him. When he'd scared them all so terribly.

"It's not that bad, is it? Nevermind, nothing some alcohol can't fix. Sorry it took so long, gorgeous. Really. I lost track of time, and guess...I just wasn't thinking too straight."

"Apology not accepted," she said quietly, turning away from him and retreating back into the dining room to gather up her vials.

She'd had enough.

Enough of being a caretaker without anyone to care for her. Enough of tip-toeing around feelings and sensitivities while she drowned in her own. Enough of trying to be an adult when she still felt like a child.

Enough of forgiving things that Cassian needed to sit in and feel the weight of.

Before his mother had ever grabbed his ear, Cassian had already known there was no coming out of the situation smelling like roses.

He'd been gone; there was no way around that. His presence had created a vacuum felt by everyone left behind in the house. Both his wife and mother confirmed the fear that had settled after he'd stepped through that front door. He was gone all night. No one thought they'd simply not seen him. No one thought he was only playing a game of hide and seek. The only thing Cassian could control was what they thought of his absence. If the boy could manage to convince them that his absence was reckless but otherwise harmless, he knew well enough that it would remove them from darker thoughts.

Who would guess intercountry murder while he grinned so infuriatingly and presented them with a much more palatable story? A night out? Some mates? A bit of boyish ignorance and immaturity – they were easier labels to slap on his forehead, and they did.

His mother's fury was proof enough that it had worked. It set him back in some ways but put him ahead in all the ways that mattered. She would never know, not so long as he could help it. This was a problem he'd needed to handle, not another he needed to drag his parents into. What would they even say? Would they still be able to look at him if they knew? Would he ever be just their son, or would they spend the rest of their lives worried he would only keep finding worse trouble for himself? The thread was fraying wildly, but he'd found a way to put a stop to it, to cauterise and reset.

The damage ended with him. They could return to normalcy without the burden of potential secrets.

Rosie was the harder pill to swallow.

While more believable in the moment, his lie wasn't any more palatable for her. Without saying as much, Cass had told her that he'd heard her grief and he'd acknowledged it but that he'd then been too careless with it.

She didn't accept the apology. A part of him knew she wouldn't. The balls on him to waltz in with a smile and a cavalier admission to a brilliant night while his wife ached so badly it left her hollow. It wasn't something to be forgiven, nor something he'd have ever lacked the shame to ask forgiveness for. He let her go without chasing, not because he didn't want to fix it but because he knew there was nothing he could do to fix it while he was still under such a powerful magnifying glass.

Nothing twisted his insides worse than knowing he let her down...that he hurt her, but there was nothing he could do but watch her go for what little time he could before his mother got on him again.

She was disappointed.

Good.

Disappointed was better than devastated. Let her think he was a knuckle-headed fuck-up who lacked emotional intelligence. That sort of knowledge didn't obligate her to speak to the MLE. With time, even she grew weary of her lecture. Shaking her head, she left him to go find Rosie herself. Following wasn't an option even if he'd wanted it to be. Before walking off, she set him to work.

If he was well enough to be out all night, he was well enough to address a few things around the house while he 'waited for his father to come back and handle him."

What an exceedingly long day he'd been having.

---

Monday, June 5, 1922
Justine's Room
1:05 AM

He'd been pacing his room for what felt like hours.

His parents had taken their time going to bed, up with their back and forth about what they were going to do with him. His father was, predictably, upset. Exasperated. It was just another day dealing with his impulsive son who led with whatever he felt in the moment rather than employing any sort of critical thinking. He wasn't a novice when it came to Cassian's many disappearing acts, and while they'd become more intense and the stakes had risen, on some level, the man wasn't surprised, only tired.

His mother was the problem. She worried there was something more. Kari pleaded with Julian, insisting something had to be wrong – that Cassian, for all his faults, wasn't heartless. She wasn't anywhere near the truth of what had happened, but she was worried that whatever he'd done (the partying, the fights and Merlin knew what else she'd imagined) could be a manifestation of something they needed to keep a closer eye on.

She'd caught him throwing up when she sent him out to cut the lawn, attributing it to the heat and his condition. It didn't make her send him back to bed, but despite the annoyance she maintained, she'd forced him back inside.

Wilful, his father had argued. Always interested in doing his own thing.

They were flattering in comparison to what he imagined Rosie now thought of him. After she and his mother had thoroughly laid into him, she hadn't so much as looked at him. She didn't answer the few things he'd said to her and didn't linger anywhere he happened to be. A deep dread warned him that it was only the beginning of the end. The boy was still resolved to tell her the truth. He just...

Fuck.

On his next walk by the door, he paused to listen. The hall had finally gone quiet. His parents had retired from their unproductive back and forth.

Cassian slipped into the hallway, pausing again to make sure the house really was still before proceeding just a door down to Justine's room. The light was still on, but it didn't surprise him. Rosie hadn't been sleeping well. He didn't suppose he was either. Cass hadn't been able to sleep since he'd gotten the news and made his way back to their old apartment. The boy was bone-tired, but his mind was a live wire of constant chaos.

Cass knocked twice, gently. He didn't want to wake his parents, but with the icy reception of the day, he didn't want to barge in unannounced either.

"Get out."

The words greeted him the moment he entered, giving him no chance to shut the door behind him. It cut at something inside his chest, gouging a deeper hole than the Sectumsempra had.

She was getting ready for bed. At this hour. Changing into one of his mother's night gowns. Rosie reached for covering, hiding herself from him the way she'd started to do in Allonnes. It was all he could do to swallow the rising panic as he leaned against the door's frame.

"Two minutes," he pleaded quietly. "It's...it's important. I'll leave after, I promise. Please."

Monday, June 5, 1922
Justine's Room
1:05 AM

She'd spent almost the entire evening on the rooftop.

After dinner was finished and cleaned up - Rosie as usual hardly touching a bite of it, this time with no protest from anyone, thankfully - she'd excused herself, wanting an early night and had headed up to Justine's room to be left alone.

Kari had tried to comfort her in the moments after Cassian had returned home, and while it had helped, the girl knew she needed time to sit with herself and decide what she was going to do from here.

She had been living in limbo, a warm purgatory where she was safe but emotionally distant from herself. The McCormick home was a safe refuge, warm and solid in the idea of family that she hadn't known in years. The Laurences had always had their moments - holidays, dinners, birthdays - where they came together and felt more familial than the circumstances that drew respect rather than warmth between them all.

But the McCormicks were small, intimate. It was a modest house, not a sprawling castle with endless places to hide. It was easy for her to be seen, and while comforting in some ways, it also had the ability to make the girl feel exposed in ways she wasn't ready to be with them. She wanted Julian and Kari to see her, for the bubbly, vivacious, bright happy girl she knew was still somewhere inside of her. Not this broken, depressed, angry version of herself that hid behind housework and polite smiles.

The roof offered her a moment to breathe without visibility. She'd stared up at the stars, the cool tiles of the roof pressing into her back through her cotton dress, her fingers trailing the edges of each one, rough and rustic against her skin. What would she do now? Stay? Leave? Julia had said there was a place for her at the Barlowe house. Could she trust them?

She didn't know.

If she didn't stay and she didn't go to Maddox and Julia, where would she go? She had nowhere else. No one she could turn to. No one she trusted. Kate was gone. Eira was gone. Their families wouldn't take in a wayward pureblood daughter anyway, deciding she was more trouble than she was worth.

She could get a job, try and find her own place. Make it somehow. She'd done it before, albeit with Cassian, but...she could do it on her own, couldn't she? Some women did. It was better than staying in a house with a husband who didn't want to try and fix things. Cassian wanted to be a son. A boy. A friend. He wanted to be that theatre kid she'd met so many years ago, before she'd turned his life upside down.

She supposed she couldn't blame him anymore, no matter how much she wanted to.

When laying on the roof hadn't given her anymore answers than she had when she'd climbed up there, she crept back down, through the window of Justine's bedroom and decided to try for elusive sleep. Shrugging out of the dress Kari had leant her, she pulled a silk nightgown from the dresser.

There was a soft knock at the door.

Her eyes shot to it as Cassian slinked through the small crack. "Get out," she said softly, immediately covering herself with the nightgown, not wanting him to see when they were on such different planes of existence. What did he think would happen? He'd sneak in, offer another apology and all would be well?

They were past that. Far past that.

"Two minutes. It's...it's important. I'll leave after, I promise. Please."

She stared at him for a moment, her normally bright eyes now dull, more gray than the vibrant blue she usually wore. She hesitated for a moment, wanting to insist there was nothing important they needed to discuss, nothing that they needed to say to one another that would speak louder than his actions had.

She swallowed hard as his brown eyes pleaded with her, and she exhaled sharply, before pulling the nightgown over her, exposing the slashes on her chest with the briefest glimpse. "Fine," her flat answer came as she brushed her hair back and sat herself on the bed.

"Two minutes."