"No one made you do it alone," Zora said tersely.

Iona could burn the whole city down with her just anger but sometimes her misery was of her own making. They'd gone through all of this before. Zora had been there for Iona and had done whatever she'd needed and she'd been happy to do it. But it had been hard on Zora, too. She'd lost the woman she loved and now it was going to happen all over again.

"There's nothing humiliating about needing help. Robin said he'd meet us at ten, so there's time if you want to shower and eat something."

Zora was right. No one but Iona insisted that she tackle the morning alone. It had been her stubborn insistence that she could manage it, that she had to manage it. For all of her support and general practically, it wasn’t as if Zora would ever understand, and Iona sincerely hoped she wouldn’t ever have the opportunity to. Goodness knew that one of them fighting a loss of independence was more than enough for one household of strong witches.

Iona struggled to pay any attention to the practical suggestion, mind focusing instead on how she’d not been made to do it alone.

“So that makes it ok that I got a damned audience? That I was a stubborn cow for wanting to do this without you holding my hand?” It wasn’t fair for her to turn on Zora, Iona knew it, but she couldn’t help herself, and instead of yelling anymore, the tears suddenly came thicker and faster. Letting go of the crutches, Iona sank to the floor and put her head in her hands as the stronger sobs came, shaking her shoulders.

Zora huffed out a great sigh when her wife sank to the floor in sobs. She closed the office door fully, but didn't join her Iona on the rug. The mood swings pre- and post-transformation were common and with the attack - yeah, all totally understandable. Zora just didn't want to feel it all right now, and she also didn't feel like just absorbing another accusation.

"You're being irrational. I didn't say that and you know it," Zora said back, expression gone to a secure blank now.

She sat down and crossed one leg over the other. Clearly, they were going to be a minute.

“Irrational?!” Iona barely managed to blurt out, looking up through the tears that had now made her eyes bloodshot. Instead of getting on her level and giving her wife a damned hug, Zora had seated herself in the chair, evidently waiting for the emotion to pass, and this spurned that fire in Iona’s belly even more. Her emotion was clearly inconvenient because they were expected at St Mungo’s and her practical wife wanted her to pull herself together, shower and eat before she spent yet more hours stuck in a hospital bed while Bones and Robin poked and prodded and fixed her up with a miracle leg that would solve all of the problems.

Lifting a jumper sleeve to wipe her now blotchy face, Iona tried to calm down the sobs. She was flipping between anger and sadness, frustration and despair and it seemed almost impossible to keep a level head.

“You said they’d come for me[1]. When I took this bloody job, you said they’d come for me.” The redhead rested her head back against the bookshelf behind her, sniffing and trying to calm her breathing. “If they come for me, they’ve got no barriers. It won’t stop here.”

1.	Find Your Way Home - December 2011

Zora wanted so badly to hold her ground and let Iona finish her lashing out. She held out for a minute while Iona sniffled and coughed, looking miserable and shattered on the floor. Her words brought her down, prodding at the 'I told you so' she'd been holding on to for years, poking her fears. She knelt down and hugged Iona around the shoulders whether she'd accept it or not.

"I know. It's awful," she said, her own tears threatening. "I'm so sorry."

Sorry for Iona, sorry for herself, sorry for their kid, and everyone else.

Zora was down on her level, wrapping arms around her, and Iona practically melted into the hug, burying her face in her wife’s shoulder where she continued to cry. Before yesterday, Iona couldn’t remember the last time she’d really cried. As a habit, both witches tended to bottle their emotions and act like everything was fine. But it wasn’t alright today. Nothing was alright and it would be impossible to act like it was.

After several moments, Iona pulled her head back and wiped her face with her sleeves. “I am so angry, Zo. I’ve just got this rage, this fire in my gut and I can’t push it down.” It was a significant thing to admit, just how angry she was. Waverley would likely be relieved because so often she’d questioned why she just didn’t seem angry with her lot in life.

“I stand in this office insisting that people trust us to protect them and I can’t even protect myself. Look at me, look at our barn.”

Zora felt that fear and defeat, too. She was just in a better place to work with it right now. She held Iona's head gently and breathed.

"We'll rest. You'll heal. We'll clean up the barn." (They'd had offers from friends and family to help.) "And then we carry on. They caught us out. They won't again."

Zora really believed it, that there was no one better for the Werewolf Wing than her Iona. No one else could understand like Iona did what it was like on both sides, and no one was braver. Zora didn't need to say that she'd throw the entire might of the Auror Office into finding the people who'd attacked their home, and anyone else who looked to tear things apart.

"You didn't need that leg anyway," she said and laid her hand firmly on Iona's thigh. "The other one's much better."

“They know where we live.” It likely hadn’t been hard to find out, considering how both witches had become significant public figures, even if it hadn’t been their intention. But at this very moment, Iona didn’t feel confident that she wouldn’t be caught out again. She felt more vulnerable than she’d felt since waking up in a hospital bed with a bloody werewolf bite on her leg. Zora would do what was necessary, warding the boundaries and securing the house once more, but Iona didn’t feel like she’d be likely to sleep properly any time soon. She certainly didn’t feel up to staying home alone again while her wife worked late.

Zora’s hand landed on the thigh of her good leg and Iona looked down at it. The grip was steady and firm, reassuring like her wife. Iona knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t have made it through recovering 8 years ago without Zora’s support, and she likely wouldn’t this time, either. Her soulmate was also her rock, and she’d been a stubborn fool this morning for insisting that she handle it alone.

“You didn’t sign up for this, Zo.” Iona’s own pale and freckled hand landed on top of Zora’s, and Iona closed her eyes. She felt drained, and wasn’t sure she had the will to get back up again and drag her arse back to St Mungo’s.

Zora snorted a laugh.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere. That purple-robed knob says we're stuck, anyway."

She was referring, clearly, to the Wizengamot Elder who'd been the officiant to sign off on their gay marriage at long last a few years ago. They'd hurried through vows, they'd kissed their daughter, and then went out for kebabs. Maybe they should have had a big fete, but Zora hadn't wanted one. Pieces of paper and all that.

Zora made a move to separate.

"No one 'signs up' for anything, Iona. We decide what's important, or least we muddle through out of spite, yeah?"

Despite the exhaustion and emotion, Iona couldn’t help but let out a laugh. That purple robed knob had indeed officially tied them together forever. Only two witnesses had been there and known about it, including Waverly. They’d been together for 30 years, grown from young 20 somethings with enthusiasm for life and were now cynical witches entering their 50s. Zora wasn’t all cuddles, fluffy affection and coddling. For two witches so similar in many ways, they handled supporting the other one so differently. Zora was what Iona needed because otherwise she would very likely fall down a rabbit hole of self pity, despair and anger. Iona had always seemed to feel things much stronger than the sensible woman by her side. Her wife’s announcement of muddling through out of spite was oddly comforting. It was very Zora; there was no emotional proclamation of love and support, and Iona wouldn’t expect it. It was the ‘well, I’m in it now, wife, may as well continue as I’m not putting all these years to waste.’

It was a strange relief, because despite all this time together, and everything they’d been through, Iona still felt this irrational fear that Zora would cease being attracted to her and want to end it all there and then. It was ridiculous to think such a thing about the witch she trusted with her life, but Iona certainly hadn’t been thinking straight the past couple of days.

“You’ll stay with the one legged werewolf out of stubborness. Good to know.” She muttered, not quite able to find the humour in such a thought today. After a pause, Iona let out a long release of breath, complete with an “Ugh!” before looking back to her wife and wiping her eyes again. The tears were drying up, likely because she was too worn out. “Help me up?” she would have to face the walk to the lifts and the floss at some point, but at least now it would be with her wife.

Zora was relieved when Iona relented, if those were the right words. Zora often felt inadequate in supplying what Iona needed, always hoping Iona's own 'warrior-witch' spirit didn't need the mothering and cooing that fit Zora badly. Iona might not say so, but she was physically strong, so it didn't take much effort from the also-fit Zora to help her up to standing. The missing limb really was an odd omission. The mind wanted it to be there, it wanted to fill it in for you. It would take some getting used to.

Zora patted and straightened at Iona's clothes, like she was about to go out for a press conference. "You're all streaky," she said, of her wife's lovely face.

"Let's go have a clean up and then see Rob in a bit," she suggested. 

With Iona now back up, she leaned heavily on the crutches under her arms as Zora patted her down as if she were about to face her critics. In truth, she likely was. People in the corridor had likely heard her yelling at Kerrigan. They were probably hanging around, waiting to get a good look at her.

“Big issue, Zo.” Iona muttered irritatedly when her wife pointed out her streaky, teary face. “People are really going to be staring at my face today.” She knew where all eyes would be, and she wasn’t sure she felt ready to face that. It was quite the walk to the lifts and she’d stubbornly refused a wheelchair or any help other than the crutches.

With a frown, Iona started to move towards the door, letting Zora open it out onto the corridor.
“Let’s face my adoring public, shall we?” Iona said bitterly as she stepped out of the office.