“Well I’m not a killer, Porky.” Nicola Randall told Arthur McJivett as the poor muggle man sat in chains on the floor of her shop basement naked as the day he was born and having lost at least half a stone in weight. The metal collar around his neck was now no longer too tight for the less chunky man. The diet of dog food and kibble was evidently doing him good. “So, I certainly can’t do that.”

“Pleeease!” Arthur pleaded once more, his voice hoarse, his energy levels clearly lacking. “Just let me-“

“No, no no!” Nicola span on the spot where she’d been stood at a counter preparing his next meal. Rather than her wand in her hand, she held a knife, recently sharpened and glinting. “Pets don’t talk, Porky.” Her voice was melodic, playful. Her smile exaggerated. “You’re supposed to be a good boy, aren’t you?” The knife was lowered, being pointed at him. The smile suddenly vanished and Nic’s eyes narrowed, darkening. “Do it again and I’ll cut out your tongue and put it in your dinner.”

Arthur’s lips pressed together as he drew in a breath. Nicola’s grin quickly returned and she grasped the dog food bowl, taking a few steps towards the man on the floor.
“That’s a good boy. Mommy bought you dinner. It’s rabbit today.”

With the bowl dropped to the floor with a clatter, Nicola left Porky to debate whether he wanted another meal of dog food or to starve. Instead of watching the inner turmoil, the witch headed back up the stairs, locking the door on her way.

It was when she was in her bedroom above the shop that Nicola’s gaze was drawn to something new. On the bed lay a sheet of parchment, the familiar scrawl of Cináed Tawse decorating it.


One simple sentence, not a man to waste his words.

For a closer inspection, Nicola reached out, grasping the note. There was only a moment to feel the sensation of parchment between her fingers before the horrible lurching and pulling sensation took her, physically launching her from the room.

Spinning.
                                                                Twisting.
                                                                                                                               Throwing.
                                                                                                                                                                                                 Hurtling.


Heeled feet hit the ground and the witch lurched forward, hands clamping a nearby railing as she tried to push down the sudden and urgent need to vomit.

Restlessness and an uncomfortable degree of stir craziness had finally reached a boiling point for the Scottish fugitive.  The walls of the Black Chimaera had grown restrictive, entrapping and the once social wizard needed to get.  To be in the world again.  On streets and allies filled with laughing, talking, traffic, people and life.  But, being cooped up in the pub had also given Cinaed time to think about the argument he'd had with Nicola and the child that was growing within her.  So much had been said during their fight - lots of anger and fear being tossed between them - but a lot had been left unsaid. 

All those thoughts had rattled around in the fugitive's head for the better part of the day until, on a whim, he'd decided on a spontaneous change of scenery.  He'd procured a babysitter (Nicola scoffed at the idea of imperioused muggles, but Cinaed couldn't afford to be picky) and had scrounged up a spare bit of parchment.  After a bath, a fresh set of robes and a quick apparition to the outskirts of London, a black and white magpie was flitting between the rooftops of london with the small scroll of parchment pinched between its beak.  He'd darted, easily, through an window and resumed his normal shape just long enough to set the portkey.  Once everything had been in place, the magpie had found a discrete perch on a nearby ledge, that offered an easy line of sight to the parchment on the witch's bed. 

Cinaed Tawse disapparated from London a few short moments after the portkey whisked Nicola away. 

The alley where they appeared was quiet and desolate but, not far off, the voices and bustling of city light could be heard echoing off the cobblestone streets of Prague.  Just far enough displaced from London that Cinaed hoped they could enjoy some time, out in the open, without fear of being recognized.  Cinaed leaned against the stone wall, watching Nicola with a sly grin. 

"Sorry about the cloak and dagger," he offered, giving Nicola some space to collect and orient herself.  "I assumed there was no way you'd agree to come if I gave you a choice." 

"Sorry about the cloak and dagger," Cináed was beside her but at enough of a distance that she couldn’t slap him from her position. Instead she took a few more steadying breaths, grateful to be back on solid ground and not spinning mercilessly. What in Merlin’s name had made him believe that thrusting a surprise portkey on a pregnant witch was a good idea? Nicola regularly commented on the wizard’s questionable intelligence but right now she felt too queasy to.

Oh, he was certainly lucky that she wasn’t on top form.

“So, this is kidnap?” Came the question as the witch straightened herself to look at the wizard. Her eyes narrowed, lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Your speciality.” They’d barely spoken for the past few days, not since he’d jumped between disgust and accusations to excitement in a flurry that she’d been unable to keep up with or comprehend. Nicola was supposed to be the one swinging between moods unpredictably yet he had certainly given her a run for the money she barely had.

“Where are we?” Abroad, it seemed. Now stood straight, Nic folded her arms over her stomach, directly eyeing the Scotsman. “I thought you were above trying to kill me off. Such a pitiful way of handling the situation.” Her eyebrow rose and it certainly wasn’t clear if she was being serious.

"This is picking a witch up for a casual evening out," Cinaed countered.  Sure, the portkey removed her choice in the matter of coming. 

With a sly grin, Cinaed waved a hand in an inviting gesture towards the slip of parchment.  "I'm not stopping you from reversing it and going home," Cinaed offered.  "If you'd like to return, alone, to the cold, dark confines of Knockturn, I won't stop you."  With a shove of his shoulder, Cinaed pushed himself off the wall and finally took a step towards Nicola. 

If she felt the need to hit him for this, might as well get it over with. 

"You're a hard woman to please, Randall."  There was a distinct, playful humor in is tone as he closed the distance between them.  "I thought this was what you were hoping for.  That was what I got from your antics the other day."   

She really thought he was trying to kill her?  And, this was the way she thought he'd do it?  Slowly, Cinaed shook his head.  "Hardly, my dear.  If I ever want to kill you, I can offer the promise that it'll be memorable."  Much like Nicola, his own tone was ambiguous.  Despite (and in contrast to) the dark humor, Cinaed waggled his eyebrows and extended an elbow to the witch.

"Prague, Nicola.  The Ministry is hundreds of miles away chasing shadows and we are in Prague. What would you like to do first?   Go shopping?  Sulk and moan about how horrible I am?  Sip wine in the square and scare little children?"

She was hard to please?! What about the wizard who’d been convinced that the child she was carrying had nothing to do with him? He’d jumped from accusatory and disgusted to excited and eager like a blasted child on energy potion. Now he’d decided to drag her to merlin knew where without any forewarning and she was being difficult? Nicola’s glare didn’t diminish even when he gave her that look and offered his arm for her to link.

Had Cináed really just brought her to Prague (whatever Prague was) with the intention of placating her and making his life easier? He really did have a cheek.

“Sip wine?” Did she want to give him a hard time? Nicola always wanted to give Cináed a hard time. One might wonder what she saw in him, but it didn’t matter what was said, she always went back to him. This time would be no different. They’d already barely spoken in the past week.

“How memorable? The witch asked, her expression softening.

For a few moments, Nicola Randall seemed to waffle between smiting Cinaed Tawse and relenting to the possibility of an afternoon on the town.  It felt a lot like watching an angry, snarling dog decide what to do with the hand extended towards its bone: were those bared teeth going to sink into the offending hand or were those ears going to droop back as it nuzzled the hand. 

There was no bite, but neither did Nicola immediately take the extended arm.  "What?  Millenia of gaggling covens of witches and you really haven't found a charm that lets you drink liquor safely?" Humor, perhaps, wasn't the best approach but he couldn't help it.  "No, secrets of wine tasting for expecting witches in the depths of Witch Weekly?  Well, fin.  Metaphorical wine, perhaps." 

He knew, if past experience was anything to go off of, that she'd eventually relent.  So, he kept his arm extended despite the persistent refusal.  Perhaps, maybe just a little, part of the witch's appeal was in how easy it was to piss her off. 

"The idiots at the Ministry would be in meetings about it for years," Cinaed declared, brightly.  "And, a hundred years from now, children will be singing some nursery rhyme whose meaning is only discussed in whispers behind the quidditch pitch." 

Cinaed nodded, pointedly, down to his extended arm but, after a moment, let it fall to his side in a favor of a different tactic.  He took a small step forward, further closing the space between them.  "Yes, Nicola.  I am attempting to extend a romantic gesture.  Something beyond the boundaries of my bedroom.  Isn't that what you wanted?  Or was your toying with the Israeli just for show?"

“I like the Israeli.” Nicola didn’t look away from Cináed as she pointed it out. It was some sort of jealousy that she was looking for. It would, to Nicola, demonstrate that he cared. If he was jealous, that meant that he wanted her. If not, she’d wasted the last couple of years having any sort of relationship with him. “He could make an acceptable father for the kid.” Surely anything was better than the wanted criminal who thought so little of her. “All I have to do is sleep with him once. Or spike his drink with a potion.”

They both knew she wouldn’t do it. For some unknown reason, it was Cináed that she wanted, and that infuriated her beyond belief.

Crossing her arms, Nic looked at him with a frown. “Don’t you think a romantic gesture is a bit too little too late?” There was a rare sincerity in the witch’s voice. She was showing a genuine sadness. “There’s only been you and you are so fucking oblivious.” His question from the week before hadn’t left her mind. Who’s is it… “Oblivious or uninterested. Just tell me which, because then at least I know if I need to befriend Aviad. It’s not like I’m on unlimited time, here, Tawse.”

"I brought you here, yes," Cinaed said, arching his eyebrows as he stared down at Nicola.  "But, no one is keeping you here.  Feel free to scurry off to the Israeli, if that's what you want.  But, don't expect me to stand back and let him think he's the father." 

Were women as a whole impossible, or was it just Nicola?  This wasn't the first time that question had crossed Cinaed's mind and he doubted it would be the last.  From the sounds of it, she'd been applying, altering and abolishing a whole set of rules to this game that Cinaed wasn't privy to for quite some time and had, randomly, decided she'd start blaming him if he didn't play by the rules. 

Cinaed leaned his head back and let out a groan of frustration.  "I may be oblivious but you've been equally unclear about what you want.  I'm - this is all I have to offer."  He lifted his arms as if showing off the little Czech alley way.  "Hiding in a tree.  Stolen trips to avoid detection.  I am more than just interested, but I haven't wanted to tie you to any of this; I guessed you'd want to be able to find something more suitable long term.  If that's not what you want, what do you want?  What?  You want a proper relationship?  A proposal?  What do you want?"