7:35pm

Stress made Eva run. It made her put on her trainers and take off. It didn’t matter where. It wasn’t necessary to plan a route or a distance. Being outside ad letting her feet carry her mattered. Not being trapped mattered. Running was freeing, exhilarating, a chance to just let yourself go. Eva went most days, whether it early morning or late at night. But when stressed, she would go further, faster.

Her black trainers pounded the path of the small residential street after almost 2 hours when she spotted him. He was stood at the front door waiting patiently for the welcome that wasn’t coming. Eva slowed her pace down as she approached, grabbing hold of the black metal that made up her garden gate in an attempt to regain her breath.

Bright blonde hair was scraped back scruffily into a ponytail high up on her head and the vest she wore was baggy, floating over her torso and down towards the shorts. This was one of the rare times that her Azkaban prison number tattoo was clearly visible on the back of her neck, uncovered by hair or clothing. The weather was cooling now as the sun began to fall in the sky, but Eva was warm, glad to finally stop in the cool to catch her breath and cool down.

“If I’d have known you were coming around, I’d have told you to bring your running shoes.” The witch said between breaths as she pushed the gate open and stepped up the short path towards her tiny house and him. “Not that you’d have kept up. It’s hard to keep pace when you’re worried about your muscles looking big enough for the onlookers.” The witch teased as she reached her hand into her bra and produced a small key to unlock the door with. No wands were ever taken out with her. She didn’t see the point with how incompetent she seemed to be with one now anyway.

Eva’s house was a small two-bedroom terrace in a muggle street in south London. There was one pokey bathroom, a living room with an oversized fireplace, a small galley kitchen and a postage stamp garden. She didn’t come from money but earned enough to live comfortably. This had brought this upon her divorce 15 years ago. For 14 years, it was sat uninhabited and dusty. Now, as they stepped through the front door and straight into the small but cosy living room, it was clear she was making the best of the small space.

After a couple of minutes on the step, Riordan had been just about ready to head back home when he heard the heavy footfalls on pavement approaching. Squinting against the dying sunlight, he turned as she approached. Right now, Eva was just a backlit silhouette, but one he could appreciate well enough. He tucked his hands in his pockets, chin tilted as he regarded her from his position against the doorframe.

"Well, hello to you, too, Peaches," Riordan tilted his head in greeting, smile wide. Eyebrows cocked as she fished out the key. "If yed known I were coming 'round," his threw her a rogue's smile as he slinked an arm about her waist, drawing in to speak gruffly against her ear, "would you've worn more or less?" It was common enough talk for them, but Riordan was feeling a little off-kilter, ike a boy making a pass at a girl in the hallway. He didn't know what Eva wanted, what Eva needed. Their friendship was tried and true and comfortable, but she was on edge and, as a fact, unpredictable at the moment.

Still, at least, there was no need for a direct invitation in; he ambled in behind her, casting a questioning look on where they were to end up, exactly. 'Later' had a way of being vague like that.

"Longer run'n usual?" he asked casually. She seemed beat--and it wasn't just physical posturing that indicated it. As uncertain of the situation as he was, all he had to do was get her talking. And all that took was an opportunity to take a jab at him. And hell, she saw that opportunity just about anywhere.

"…would you've worn more or less?" Pulled closely to him whispering in her ear, despite herself, Eva grinned. She allowed him to pull her in, enjoying the closeness for the moment. Perhaps it was a good idea for him to be waiting on her doorstep. He was a welcome distraction. A very handsome welcome distraction with an accent that had her even after 30 years.

“Less may have attracted the wrong attention, Mon Chou. I’m already known as the strange woman at number 13. We don’t need to add streaking to that description.” she knew exactly what he’d been getting at but chose to bypass it when unravelling herself from his arm and stepping into the small house.

Eva didn’t hang around when the front door shut behind the couple. She moved through the small living room and into the even smaller kitchen, heading straight for a water glass and the tap.

“Marginally.” The witch muttered, turning to face him from beside the sink as she filled her glass with cold water. It was clear he’d known something was off since the night before; probably the reason he’d come now. But she had a fair idea she knew how he’d react when she told him. He was a self-proclaimed ‘Guideline Guru’ and her meeting Lawrence Musgrave this morning did not follow those guidelines he loved so much.

He’d react far worse if he found out from someone else.

“You want a drink?” she’d stall him, have them sat comfortably before sharing her ‘misdeed’.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have arrested you," was his rejoinder as she moved to the kitchen. Not that he could have. But he could have made it happen, he supposed. The way he figured, him arresting a fit woman for public indecency was about as likely as Bassir turning down a sandwich.

He took a deep breath, regarding her silently before settling against the counter. At the offer of a drink--when would he ever say no?--he merely crooked a smile in her direction.  Another breath, he pushed off the counter, moving towards the cabinets. If she was providing, he was going to be at least marginally helpful. Opening the door slightly, his hand hovered near the stem of a wine glass. "What are we drinking, luv?" he asked, over his shoulder.

“Whatever’s in.” It was well known amongst friends and acquaintances that ever came to Eva’s small house, that she wasn’t half as organised personally as she was professionally. The train wreck of her personal life was enough proof to this fact but her lack of any idea as to what she kept in her cupboards (and regularly the lack of food or drink stored at all) also helped paint the picture of Eva Kuester. Her kitchen cupboards were an untidy mismatch of crockery, glassware and cutlery shoved in and unsorted when she came back to England. The food and drink cupboards were often less than half full.

But on a quick check, Eva found a bottle of firewhiskey which she pulled from a cabinet and placed on the side triumphantly.

“Give me five minutes.” A hand was waved at the bottle before she slipped past him and went up the stairs.

It was probably more like ten to fifteen minutes when Eva returned clean and dressed in a blouse and jeans. She found Gilchrist having taken up his regular spot on the sofa with Chou Fleur, her fluffy Maletese pup lying lazily at his feet.

Despite it feeling odd to sit away from him, Eva took her filled tumbler and lowered herself into an armchair near the fireplace.

“What is your experience of separating work and personal life?” She asked, bright eyes searching his. “Are you capable?” she frowned, she wasn't making much sense. "I want to tell my oldest friend something rather than the Deputy Head of Law Enforcement."

Eva seemed level-headed in most regards. Not prone to frippery or outrageous displays of... whatever those women with painted-on lips, high heels, expensive bags, and even more expensive bad habits could be called. With the exception of the dog. It wasn't quite a chihuahua, but the dog, Chou Fleur was totally superfluous. The pup ambled up to him, quivering in anticipation of affection or, perhaps, a treat. With a sigh, Riordan leaned forward to scratch its ears. The pup was alright, though, Riordan supposed. Chou rested his chin on the toe of Riordan's shoe, eyes closing under the indulgence.

When she came down the stairs, Riordan shifted on the sofa instinctively, making sure she had enough room to sit beside him. When she chose the armchair, however, he leaned back on the sofa, sucking on his teeth as he considered her. Not an auspicious beginning.

He frowned at her next words. Like as not, this meant she'd done something wrong. Or at the least, something she was worried he'd act upon. He sucked on his teeth as he considered, swirling the contents in the bottle as he thought.

"I...keep an open mind in both," he said, guarded at first.  He knew that wasn't good enough--but she'd know it was his most honest answer. To soften things, he added, "Y'know I want the best fer you--as a friend." Pray to Mary, Jesus, and Joseph she wasn't going to do anything to make him, as Deputy Head, require different. "What's up," he added, voice low.

He was uncomfortable with the change in atmosphere and situation. The easy-going and smiling wizard she cared about had faded behind the cautious, uncertain one. The way she’d phrased it sounded as if she’d be asking him to go against his job. For a witch normally so good with words and twisting them to suit her purpose, she was off her game.

She wasn’t even sure where to start. It would have been far better to not tell him at all but the risk of him finding out from someone else and then she’d been dishonest…
Despite herself, Eva really cared about Gilchrist Riordan and what he thought of her. But deep inside, there was still that deep fear of rejection that made it so hard to tell him about this.

“Good.” They’d known one another for a long time, but they’d never really just sat and talked about anything serious. In the couple of years that she’d been back from France, she’d not talked to him about her experience in Azkaban or how she was still affected by it. He knew about the nightmares, he’d woken to the screams. But most people just didn’t want to ask.
“I went to see Lawrence Musgrave this morning.” It was easier to come straight out with it. “It was authorised, before you say anything.”

Riordan's face was emotionless with her first statement. He was grateful, at least, for the preamble to this; it gave him enough time to keep any emotions from revealing himself. The physical cues he could see straight from the beginning. If he hadn't been the one to show up at her doorstep, he would have sworn this was a planned assault.

"Authorized," he repeated stiffly, brows knit. All this was news to him, and that wouldn't have been out of his purview in normal circumstances. Words like 'puzzled' or 'bewildered' at the way things were run didn't suffice. They didn't capture the sense of 'properly pissed off' that had been brewing the past couple of weeks. "By who?" It wasn't the right question to ask. It was the one he wanted the answer to, so he'd said it, but that wasn't about her and Lawrence at all; it was about him and his position on Level 2. Another thing to go over, under, or around him, no doubt.  He was used to the usual cat herding that was managing Aurors on complex fieldwork. This was different, though. And troubling.

His question was hanging in the air now, though, and he'd wait for the response before he turned it back to the matter at hand. In a determined fashion, he cross his leg, leaning back into the sofa a bit; trying his best not to look like a manager asking for a list of names.

There had been no expectation of sympathy or interest to know how it had gone for her. That would come from Harper if she felt it right. But for the only focus to be on who had authorised it, Eva pressed her lips together, mildly irked. As much as she cared for this wizard, he was yet another bureaucrat in a smart suit with a job he put above all else. He didn’t care that she’d just seen the wizard who’d ruined her life 14 years ago. He cared about the possibility of being ignored or undermined within his department. This was why Eva no longer got really close to people. They had agenda’s and priorities that certainly weren’t conducive to trust.

“Who?” the witch suddenly asked, her tone tense. “That is all you have to say when I tell you that this morning I saw the man that broke into my home, arrested me and sent me to Azkaban for a life sentence? The man who would not let me go despite me having worked with him for years. That is all you have to say.” She was visibly agitated, irritated. Her European accent was stronger than usual, the mixture of Germanic and French twang lilting her words. Eva rarely lost her temper, but she’d expected more than just a damned ‘who’. That was her mistake for putting any trust in a quill pusher with a handsome face.

“Your boss. And Musgrave’s lawyer, of course.”

Riordan nodded at the information. She was emotional--didn't make her wrong or irrational, but it did have a way of making people unnecessarily narrow-minded. Which meant it was down to him to open up the communication again. If it was going to at all.

"S'not all I have to say, Eva," he said, voice level. It wasn't and she knew it. Or she didn't know him at all. Jesus. "Didn't realize I was only allowed the one comment." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Was trying to get some context, is all, starting from the beginning." He took another deep breath, pushing himself further still into the sofa--an indication he wasn't going anywhere, before folding his arms, too.

"You want to let me have a conversation with you before you dig in, Lioness? Maybe give me the benefit of the doubt here, a little?" Or had she already decided what she wanted, and was testing him to see if he'd give it to her? Sure as hell felt like he was on trial, here--if not already found guilty; her mind made up on him from three words.

At any rate, he didn't like the ground rules. Something large and unpleasant just landed on his lap, affecting his own situation, potentially affecting the outcome of the case that he'd been trying to facilitate--and he clearly wasn't allowed questions, much less opinions or feelings on the matter. Only unquestioning support for her actions.

He'd never been the friend to soothe and comfort. He was the one to work things out with folks. Challenge them, if need be and he felt them ready. And if they weren't? Drink in silence. What Eva was asking of him was not just unfair, it had never been in their rules of engagement to begin with.

Heaving a sigh, he looked at her, awaiting the answer.

Had she jumped the wand? Had she not given him his due when all he’d asked her was who’d authorised it? It had certainly had the air of irritation at being cut out, uninvolved in the discussion. His continued reaction did tell her she probably should give him the chance before saying anything more.

So, she glanced down at her glass, frowning. It was easy to be angry at someone and blame them for your misfortune. She’d done that with Lawrence Musgrave for so long it was hard to remember what it was like to not hate a person. But not she didn’t hate him. She pitied him and it was confusing, frustrating, hard to let go of.

"You want to let me have a conversation with you before you dig in, Lioness? Maybe give me the benefit of the doubt here, a little?"

“I’m sorry.” The apology was genuine, he was right. A hand brushed through her hair, letting blond waves fall down of her shoulders. She took a sip of firewhiskey, perhaps a larger mouthful than was usual, and felt it burn down her throat. Perhaps she should have stayed on that run for a while longer and avoided this inevitable talk.

She’d handled the whole thing wrong. Without another moment’s pause, Eva stood up from the armchair and moved around the weathered coffee table to sit beside him on the sofa. She twisted her body, back against the armrest and looked at him carefully.

“So…are you going to tell me off?”

"Are you going to tell me off?"

A short, surprised laugh escaped his lips. "I don't know!"  He shook his head. Was that why she was bringing this up? To rate on a scale of 1 to 10 just how pissed off he was? On the plus side: that would be a more direct motive than what he'd been supposing: some sort of feelings-y talk. Riordan'd feel like a flightless phoenix: flapping around uselessly and just waiting to combust.

"I know a round total of... two things about it. That it happened and that it was approved. Not nearly enough for an opinion." This whole thing was just... unbelievable. He didn't like how she'd phrased it, either. He'd spent enough time as a criminal litigator to know when the rhetoric was charged. Tell me off--as though any feelings he had against her were immediate knee-jerks, him being bold and oppressive. As though any potential disapproval was aggressive--some sort of Patriarchy machismo.

He frowned. Looked at her for a time before helplessly hefting a sigh. "I'm trying to get a read on this, Eva. Ye say y'want to talk to me as a friend, but then y'want to know if I'm going to tell you off--presumably because of my job title..." He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "Why are y'bringing this up?"

There was such a rarity in the occasions when Gilchrist used her given name that when he did, it was evidently serious. The joking wizard who took little seriously in her company was replaced by someone who really wasn’t sure what to think and Eva found herself deeply regretting mentioning it at all to him. As expected, it was a massive conflict of interests and he certainly never leaned towards emotional discussions. She’d always liked that about him.

So why had she brought it up? It was a question she found herself asking as she sat beside him on the sofa, a foot between them; a distance that felt now like miles.

“You’ll find out eventually. Better for it to come from me.” The witch sighed, frustrated with herself. She’d always diligently refused to speak of her experiences during the war. She’d adamantly avoided any conversations and yet the crescendo of problems with dementors and the surfacing of the man who’d arrested her had suddenly given her the urge to face things head on, to cease in her avoidance.

“I asked you to listen as a friend but I know you.” Eva’s voice had a calmness to it, but her grip on the tumbler was anything but calm as her fingers dug in. “Your first reaction is to wonder who approved it without your say and you can’t seriously consider this without thinking about the affect it will have on the case against him. I’ve brought it up because it’s the right thing to do, but I am not asking for your blessing or even your opinion. You’ll never understand my motives and that isn’t being harsh, it’s being realistic.”