He wouldn't let her in; Gen knew that much. It had gone from a casual relationship to something far more complicated, and neither Gen nor Kurby had been comfortable with that. She held no blame or resentment for his avoidance of her since the unpleasant wakeup from the aurors. Gen would have definitely done the same if roles happened to be reversed. Kurby spent a life avoiding drama and moaning when it found him. He'd made the mistake of falling into bed with a witch who drama happened to follow with no reprieve.

One pair of socks, a comb, a toothbrush and a pair of underwear had all been left in her flat. The signs that, at some point, Queen G had invested some time in a wizard. They were in a small black bag that she held over her shoulder as she stood at his door. At her feet was a crate of real ales; an apology gift. There was a light dusting of snow on her hair and long black coat and her cheeks were redder than normal due to the brisk temperature. She'd knocked on the door a few moments before, running through what she had to say in her mind.

When the door finally was pulled open, and Gen was faced with a sour look, she almost turned and walked away. It didn't seem worth it.

With a nervous smile, she stuck her hand out to shake. “I'm Gen. My life is an unravelling mess, and instead of telling the truth, I try to bury my head in the sand like an ostrich.” Her eyes met his. “I'm sorry.”

It had been a long, exhausting day at the tail end of an extremely long, exhausting two weeks.  Kurby had given his testimony in the Grant family's trial sometime around midday and then escaped back to the Capture Unit's office, which had been left largely empty after all of his coworkers took the day off.  For once, there hadn't been much for him to do at his desk.  He'd occupied himself mostly with twisting paperclips until they broke and trying to toss paper balls into the trash can from across the room, as he'd waited for word on the trial's verdict to come in.

By the time he'd finally gotten home, he'd been looking forward to nothing so much as crawling into the shower, eating dinner, and then collapsing into bed.  He'd gotten through the first task and was cleaning up from the second when the unexpected knock had come on his door.

There was only one person that it was likely to be.  The werewolf hunter regarded Genevieve Garcia-Gamp silently after he opened the door, dark eyes shifting down to her proffered hand, and then rising to study her expression again.  He didn't particularly want to deal with this uncomfortable conversation tonight, but the editor had never exactly been one to give him a choice about when he had to face her.

Kurby sighed, glancing behind him back into his flat.  Silently, he stepped back and nodded for her to come in, leaving the door open behind him as he headed back inside.

Of course he didn't say anything, that would mean welcoming her in with arms wide open. Gen had always felt she had a good read on Kurby; and she felt he had a fairly satisfactory read on her.   He didn't encourage her. It was as if the werewolf hunter saw her as a stray puppy, one to let in occasionally, but to ignore and punish in the cold when they'd misbehaved. Apparently, the training he'd completed in his time on level 4 had leaked into his personal life. He didn't even deign to shake her hand. So rude!

Regardless of the frigid and cold welcome, the editor wasted no time in following him inside and pushing the door closed behind her. Having not lingered by the door, Kurby was already down the corridor. Gen hung her coat up on a nearby hook and followed him, pink sparkly heels click-clacking on the floor.

The crate of beers floated into the kitchen and landed with a loud clink on the counter. Without a word, Gen also placed the bag of his things down. It felt like one of those moments where if she didn't talk, neither of them ever would. They'd just stare at each other until one of them died of awkwardness. Probably Gen. Kurby clearly enjoyed long brooding silences. Gen hated them.

“Dante gets home tomorrow. He's asked to come to the trial on Tuesday.”

The front door opened into the small living area of his flat, with doors to the kitchen and bedroom off to the side.  Although he'd lived there for years, the living room was simply furnished: a sofa, armchair, and coffee table; a bookshelf mostly filled with volumes related to his work or hobby, and a wooden desk that served as a home for his spellcrafting supplies.  With the unexpected visitor, Kurby felt too uncomfortable to sit, so he settled for leaning against the edge of the desk, leaving the furniture open for his guest.

Gen had seemingly come here to apologize.  But now inside, the conversation quickly turned to another topic: her son and his request to attend his father's hearing, which was clearly bothering the editor. 

With everything that he now knew, that seemed like an intensely bad idea.  Kurby straightened slightly, alarm clearly showing on his face. 

He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, regarding Genevieve warily.  Was he supposed to act shocked?  Surprised?  Give her advice on childcare?  It wasn't really any of his business what she decided to do with her kid.  Except, with the memory of his conversation with Fauna Blake from a week ago strong in the back of his mind, it was hard to imagine anything good coming out of Dante being present at the Wizengamot's hearing.  She couldn't actually be considering that, could she?

"Are you...plannin' to let him?" he asked uncertainly, starting to fidget with one of his rings.

“No. No way.” Gen was quick to respond, shaking her head. Her son wouldn’t be stepping foot anywhere near the Ministry of Magic on Tuesday. He would be safely kept elsewhere, somewhere she knew he would be safe.

But, despite her current concerns, Gen hadn’t come to talk about Dante. She’d come to apologise before it was too late. She’d come to tell him the truth and why she’d kept it from him. He deserved that, at least.

“Can we sit down?” With acquiescence from Kurby, they settled in his living room. She dropped onto the sofa. She sat on the edge, not at all appearing comfortable.

“I lied to you. A fan didn’t steal my shoe.” He already knew that much. “Theodora Kingstreet had someone do it. I pissed her off when I visited her last month. The dead guard was the one who let me in.” Gen’s eyes glistened with tears, clearly still feeling the guilt. “I didn’t tell you because I’m responsible for his death.”

The werewolf hunter stayed where he was, perched awkwardly against the side of the wooden desk.  As Genevieve began to speak, he silently crossed his arms against his chest, his jaw tightening. 

By his count, it had been almost three weeks.  Almost three weeks since the shoe was stolen, since the guard had ended up dead.  It felt like a lifetime ago.  Blake had taken pity on him a week ago and filled him in.  Now, listening to Gen announce everything like she was ripping a plaster off in one go, he was glad that he'd heard it first from the Auror trainee.

Genevieve claimed that she had felt responsible for one death, so she'd evidently decided to keep her mouth shut and put other people at risk.  Kurby regarded her silently, keeping his expression a mask. 

People died.  He had plenty of deaths on his conscience, and they weren't all Death Eaters or werewolves he'd been hunting:  colleagues and comrades from the Werewolf Capture Unit, like Iona Ballentyne, who he still hadn't spoken to since she'd been turned, and Ramona Flickwick, who'd died that awful night in the Ministry when he should have been triple-checking all the doors, and Farah Rashid, who had been the first teammate to get killed after he took over as Head.  There were too many innocent people whose names he could barely remember, who had been murdered in werewolf attacks that should have been preventable, like the Muggle security guards the previous weekend.  But he couldn't just shut down and make up idiotic stories because he didn't feel like explaining himself or taking responsibility after something awful had happened.  He'd had to face it head on, over and over again.  Relay the news to families, stand accountable in front of his boss.

He looked down, swallowing.  He could challenge Genevieve on this, on the fact that there was no logic to keeping her bleeding mouth shut, but it likely wasn't going to do any goddamned good.  Gen wasn't going to listen to him or take anything to heart.  The next time something gravely serious came up, she'd probably do the same damned thing.  But there was part of him that was still furious, angry that she'd dragged him into a mess like this and then not even told him, frustrated that it could have spread out even further and put people he cared about at risk.

"I don't know what the hell you expect me to say to that." He raised his head and looked over at her.  His voice was even, but the line of his jaw was tight. "It's usually nice to know about the potential for mortal danger right when it happens, rather than weeks later."

Oh, he was mad. Gen had seen Kurby when he ws unimpressed with something. She always seemed to be mildly displeased. Especially with her. He clearly disapproved of her yet he’d always been happy enough to jump into bed with her. She’d never seen him angry, though. Until this.

Dark eyes danced over the tightness of his jaw and the arch to his brows. “I’m not expecting you to say anything, Kurby.” Gen muttered, twisting a ring around her finger on her right hand. “You deserve an apology. More than that. I found out about the shoe and the guard and I freaked out. I didn’t think you’d help me if you knew the truth.” At this, Gen looked down, pressing her lips together. That was insulting, she knew. Kurby, for all his brawn and cold fish act, cared. He was a good person who wouldn’t have abandoned her. But Leo had been a good person who wouldn’t have abandoned her. She’d married the love of her life, a man she’d trusted with her life, and he’d been accused of unspeakable acts to fellow witches and wizards. After such an experience, one lost the ability to really trust again.

“I don’t have much luck in the act of trusting wizards.” And perhaps Gen was daft, because it had taken her a while to see or understand the proposed danger. Kingstreet had sent a message. If she wanted Gen dead, she would be. But Dante would be home from the safety of Hogwarts soon. His safety wasn’t something to ignore. Dante was her world.
 As he didn’t come back to sit, Gen shifted, uncomfortable. She’d leave soon. That was clearly what he wanted.

“I’m not here to make excuses or in some attempt to have you forgive me. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I panicked. I don’t know how to handle this stuff. I’m not some terrifying werewolf hunter. I’m a Hogwarts drop out who wears glittery footwear.”

Genevieve always came armed with some kind of excuse.  He'd expected one of the usual ones this time around: that it was her problem and not his, or that she hadn't wanted to deal with him worrying about her, or that he hadn't signed up to get involved in her shit.  Those were the justifications that she'd been throwing at him whenever they had argued about how to deal with her husband, as if she were doing him a favor by occasionally sleeping with him and not the other way around.  She'd made it clear that she wanted him at an arm's length even though she'd come to him for a distraction, and for the most part, he'd obliged.

But this wasn't the excuse that he'd expected, and it landed like a punch to the gut.  Kurby's gaze immediately shot over to the editor, and it took him half a second to mask the pain in his expression. 

All he'd done since the very beginning of this was try to help.  He'd let her stay over when he would have rather been alone.  He'd kept his mouth shut and hadn't asked questions.  He'd given Gen her privacy.  He'd slept over when she had asked him too.  He'd even helped with the goddamned wards after she'd fibbed to him about her shoe being stolen.  But apparently, even after all that, his willingness to help had still been in question.

Kurby looked down, swallowing, and took his head in his hands, pressing his fingers against his forehead. 

 He didn't want her to apologize.  But he wanted to hear all of this even less.  He didn't do things because he cared what people thought of him; memory of his conversation with Harper Graves, with her promise that someday Greer would be grateful, rose unbidden in his mind.  He'd told the defense attorney that he did things because they were the goddamned right thing to do.  But somehow, even though it wasn't why he'd made the decisions that he had in regards to Genevieve, hearing that the editor didn't think he would have helped hurt more than it should have.

Kurby took a deep breath to steady himself, and then forced himself to look over at her, setting his jaw.  "Nobody knows how to handle this shite," he said quietly.  "I hope you figure it out, Gen."

As expected, Kurby was giving her nothing. He was making it known that he was angry, but in a manner very like the wizard. Brooding, dark and not willing to use unnecessary words. As Gen sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, she knew there was no point in pushing it. This bridge had been burnt and Kurby Bagnold was no longer interested in whatever relationship they’d developed over the past months. He was done and Gen could hardly blame him.

“Yeah.” She almost whispered, nodding, “So do I.” How wonderful it would be to wake up and find that the nightmare was over. Or that the nightmare had never begun. To wake up 12 years ago in bed next to Leo; a wizard who would never have even been considered to be in cahoots with the dark lord. Heck, no one would have even suspected him to stealing a sweet from a toddler.

But Gen would wake up in the morning, one less friend confirmed, one husband about to be released from prison and furious with her and one son desperate to meet his angry father for the first time.

“I’ve been trying to figure this shit out for 12 years, Kurby. You can do everything in your power to figure things out and take control, but it will still blow up in your face.” A few tears were running down Gen’s cheeks now, and she covered her mouth with her hand, closing her eyes.

This whole situation was making him feel like a jerk even though he was the one receiving the apology.  Kurby shifted uncomfortably as tears began to run down the editor's face and he watched her close her eyes.  Bleedin' hell.  He wanted to close his eyes and disappear into nothingness, too, but he settled for glancing self-consciously around his flat, as if there were some magical portkey hidden within it that would let him teleport safely out of this situation.

There were one or two simple steps that Gen could probably have taken to stop everything from blowing up in her face.  Not lying about murders seemed like a potential first option, as did being honest with people who went out of their way to help her.  But pointing either of those possibilities out wasn't going to get him any closer to escaping this impossible situation.  They were probably only going to trigger her to start crying harder, and then he'd really be stuck.

He felt like an arse.  Despite everything, when someone that he moderately considered a friend was upset, Kurby usually tried to do what he could to fix the situation  But that was what got him into messes like this to begin with: camping out in Amherst's flat to wait for MacDuff, sleeping over with a Witch Weekly editor.  In this case, Gen had obviously made it clear that she didn't want his help.  She just wanted someone to listen to her woes, and maybe to distract her a little from them.  The problem was that she didn't have anyone else to fill that role besides him.

But it wasn't as if she'd asked how he was, or if she were interrupting, or how he'd been since the full moon.  Genevieve never did.  Aside from a couple of random hookups when they'd happened to be in the same place at the same time and ended up flirting together, the only times she'd ever gone out of her way to see him was when she wanted something.  Like dirt on Alec Carter back in August.[1]  Or, more recently, someone to stay with her to take her mind off her husband. 
 
He had to draw a hard line somewhere.  This wasn't healthy, and considering that she apparently didn't trust his intentions to help anyway, trying to comfort her wasn't going to do any long-term good. 

"Yeah, reckon that's life sometimes."  He swallowed, shifting awkwardly again.  "Look, uh..." he started uncomfortably.  "I haven't had a day off in a couple of weeks, Gen, and I have to get up early again tomorrow to meet Rosh.  And you, uh, probably need to get back to get things ready for Dante...?"

1.	27 August 2011 - Unleash Your Inner Wolf for Me Baby

“Ah.” He wanted her out. Kurby wasn’t even willing to listen anymore. Suddenly extremely self-conscious, Gen nodded. “Right.” She used her sleeve to wipe her face and stood up from the sofa. “Loads to do.” Nothing to do in her lonely little flat. Nothing to do but sit and panic over the next few days. But what did Kurby care? What point would there be in saying that she didn’t want to sit at home alone staring at the wreckage of her personal life?

On her way back over to his front door, Gen stopped in front of Kurby, looking up at him.
“You’re one of the good ones. Stop messing around in the sack with walking disasters and find some happiness. Smiling and falling in love; you might find you like it.” she smiled sadly at her friend. “Just remember, El amor es ciego, pero los vecinos no.”[1]

She’d overstayed her welcome and Kurby had made that clear. Gen said nothing else as she passed him to once more put her coat on. She pulled open the door and glanced back.
“I’ll keep you off print, wolf man.”

1.	Spanish Proverb - There’s always someone around to gossip about lovers.

As awkward as it was, his comment had the desired effect.  Genevieve wiped her tears and rose from the sofa, and Kurby felt even more like an arsehole.  But there wasn't anything that he could do to help by letting her stay here.  He shifted uncomfortably, not quite making eye contact as she started for the door.

But she didn't make it all the way.  Kurby's forehead creased, and he listened silently as she stopped to address him.  It was...an embarrassingly nice sentiment.  He kept his mouth pressed shut, trying to ignore the fact that his face was turning red.

He could face down werewolves every full moon, walk straight into creepy Knockturn shops, mouth off at the Ministry hierarchy, and go wand-to-wand with whatever monster the universe decided to throw at him.  But he had no goddamned idea what to say back to Gen.  Her offer -- that she'd keep him out of the Witch Weekly -- was much kinder than he probably deserved.  Unhappily, he crossed his arms, hugging them tightly against his chest.

"I hope it all works out for you, Gen," he said quietly.

The door shut, and he was left alone in his suddenly silent flat.

Kurby leaned back against his desk, fingers pressed on the wood behind him.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly again, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment.

Finally, silently, he went to finish cleaning up the kitchen, and then head to bed.