13 December 2011
10pm, directly following Of Wolves and Men
McBoid Farm

Figaro's London flat: Figaro had tried to sleep, but the night’s revelations and a gut full of booze was keeping him up. Things with Kurby could not have gone worse, the fallout from Saturday night was falling heavy. He lay awake buried under his covers, stewing and souring, thinking of the dead muggles, thinking of the ambush, feeling betrayed by Kurby, but Moira’s loose tongue ate at him, petty and sore.

With a groan, he stumbled out of bed, pulled on his shoes, and grabbed his wand and broom. He didn't know what he was doing, but he didn't know what else to do with this feeling. He tripped out of his flat, forgetting his broom was in his hand; then from the hallway, he Apparated to Scotland.

---

Figaro’s inebriated Apparition left him stumbling upon materialising at the McBoid farm. A cold rain was falling, but Figaro didn’t care. He stalked up to Moira’s front door and banged on it. He wasn’t thinking of the time or who might be inside sleeping. All he was thinking was how shitty it was for Moira to go back on her promise.

“Moira! Hey, feeling good about yourself, Moira! Big damn hero! Big damn hero, right? Too good for keeping promises? Moira, Moira, takes care of herself and screw everyone else, huh Moira!”

Bang! "Moira!"

Something told him this was stupid, but he didn't heed it. There was nothing he could do about those dead muggles, or Kurby's judgement. But he could confront Moira for caving, make sure she felt as terrible as he did. For once, Figaro was sure he was in the right. She'd promised. And she'd broken it.

After leaving the meeting with Bagnold that morning Moira had decided not going to work would raise too many questions from her family. So, the menagerie ranch was her destination, despite her boss recommending she take the day off. Throughout the day, luck sometimes smiled on her letting her fully become distracted by work, but the news she had heard that morning was always in the back of her mind.

By the time Moira got home all she wanted to do was sleep. She tried to nap, but now her nightmares had more fuel against her. Since sleep was futile the only thing left was to fix dinner and make a pot of coffee or two.

The day was drawing to a close, and even with a sleepless night ahead of her, Moira was grateful for it to be over. Nothing else could happen, no more bad news, everything had to wait until tomorrow. Or so she thought.

After ten p.m. a loud banging came from the door, followed by a voice she recognized well. Her stomach sank. Figaro had apparently heard from Bagnold and was pissed.

Steeling herself, she quickly filled her thermos full of coffee and went to the door. Opening it she gave Sellaphix a glare and stepped forward, forcing him back unless he wanted her to run into him, and shut the door so they were both outside in the rain. He was not coming in acting like this.

Moira didn’t bother saying anything.

Shortly Moira came out and Figaro shifted to the side as she brushed by him. She was staring at him, that same blank affect that she always had when she was nearly feeling something. Convenient, really convenient. Figaro just didn't buy it.

"Oh, perfect. You're not going to say anything, then? So you do know how to shut your mouth? Brilliant. Good. That's great. Love it. You just keep on then, because there's no excuse, I don't want to hear it," he ranted, tossing his broom to the side in frustration, vestigial to his task.

"After everything, you just had to bring me into it. I asked for one thing," he said, almost in a moan, holding his index finger in front of his face. "One thing, Moira. All you had to do was leave me out of it. That's all!"

He let his arms fall to his sides, his face twisted in hurt.

"So what? What the hell? You don't have anything to say to me?"

Moira lifted her eyebrows as Figaro began going on about her not talking. Surely Bagnold had told him something about what happened after they received her message, the ambush at least, and this was her friend’s response? So long as his ass was covered nothing else mattered?

She could smell alcohol on his breath, but his actions were more lucid than when they had gone out drinking. Which meant whatever he did drink was liable to amplify whatever emotions he felt.

“Is there anything I can say that you would listen to? You said you don’t want an ‘excuse’.”

Shaking her head she took a drink of her coffee and fully looked at him, “It couldn’t be helped.”

If telling the truth (mostly) saved more lives then however painful a broken promise might be, it was worth it.

Figaro threw his hands up.

"It couldn't be helped!?" he blurted. "Were you on Veritaserum? Did-did Kurby, what, drag you down to HQ and sweat you in a cell overnight? It could be helped. You just don't say it!"

He put his hands in his hair as if he just remembered.

"And you told him about the Runespoor thing...?" he moaned. "How did that even come up!? What did you do, start at the beginning? Oh, sure yes, sir, Mr. Bagnold, sir, what do you want to know? I've got to do my duty so let me just go through all these relevant details to us getting mauled because what could go wrong? Not as if Figaro could get in real trouble for no bloody good reason. Merlin, Moira! C'mon! Why!"

Language

Between that morning’s events and the lack of sleep over the past several days, Moira found her patience thinner than usual. Sellaphix’ tone, attitude, and sarcasm were pushing her to a dangerous point.

Moira gave a small growl when Fig insinuated she didn’t care. “You don’t give a shit what happened except that I was forced to tell a friend of your family, who has your best interests in mind, most of what happened that night. It’s not like he’s intent on ruining your life.

Yes, Figaro. I was dragged into the Ministry and yes, I was threatened to be tossed in a holding cell for a month. And I would have fucking done it until he told me about the ambush and weaponized werewolves.”

Figaro stepped back.

"Did you just growl at me?"

He shook his head to clear the thought because he had things to say. "Of course I care. Of course I care! People died! But that's not on us and my name wasn't going to solve the fucking case, was it? No. You don't know anything about me. You think I'm worried about getting a slap on the wrist? This isn't detention. I didn't want my dad to go back to prison. I didn't want to lose my job."

He was so pissed fof. She didn't seem at all apologetic, absolutely no concern at all that she'd broken a promise. No, 'sorry Figaro but I had to'. No, 'I panicked and I didn't know what to do'. No. Figaro grit his teeth. The more he thought about it, the more upset he got. She did it on purpose.

"Did you even try? Honestly, did you even try, Moira? You didn't even warn me!"

“He knew I wouldn’t be out there alone, by myself, at two in the fucking morning. I would have been in bed and asleep.” What a beautiful thought. “I couldn’t give him a fake name and make him waste time and resources that could be spent saving other people!

Besides, do you seriously think Bagnold is going to endanger you or your dad? Star’s above, he’s known you forever!” How could Figaro think so little of someone like that?

“Of course I tried, and if it had been anyone else I would be in a cell right now.” Moira snapped. Did he hear anything she said? No.

Figaro crossed his arms and shook his head.

"You didn't try," he sneered. "And I'm not going to walk you through it. I'm not going to tell you how you should've done it because you know perfectly well how to dodge a question and that you didn't break any laws and that no one was going to lock you up. Nice responsible Moira in a cell for a month? Come on. You didn't honestly believe that. You're not that stupid. You just caved. Admit it. You thought you knew what was best for me, you thought you got to decide. Things got hard and just dropped me."

He scoffed.

"If you'd tried, you would've told me. You could have owled or sent your Patronus or something, to tell me what happened, that things had gone south, that something was coming. But you didn't. Because you thought you knew better. Because you think you know so much. Admit it. Admit it!"

Figaro knew she wouldn't. He knew this was over. She'd never apologize or admit she was wrong. He found himself questioning everything, if she'd ever even liked him. She'd just been tolerating him and her promise meant shit.

Moira stared at Sellaphix, standing there with his arms crossed full of self-righteousness and anger. After all of her worrying about him and making sure he was safe. After she agonized for hours before meeting Bagnold, the knots in her stomach after she left. After all the nightmares from a werewolf she should never have met. She was done.

“It must be nice, living in such a black and white world. Everything’s right or everything’s wrong. You know everything from within your own little world, not having witnessed anything that happened yourself.”

After taking another swallow of coffee, Moira gave a tired snort. “You’re such an ass.”

Figaro actually laughed.

"I knew it. Huh! I bloody well knew it. You're not sorry at all. You don't see any problem with his. Noted. So this is who you are when things get bad."

He shrugged mockingly, accepting a sad and sorry fact that someone he'd trusted let him down and didn't care.

Stepping down off the stoop into the rain, he called back. "You don't know me. You don't know anything. And you don't get to talk to me about my dad or Kurby again." They were his.

It had all fallen apart. "We're done."

He picked up his broom, and gave her another shrug as if he no longer cared. Then, he Apparated away.

Moira watched as he had the last word, took his insults silently; something she had much practice with back at Hogwarts. Except the insults taken from other classmates had been meaningless, she didn’t know them and hadn’t spent any time with them. Their opinions meant nothing.

Well, if a friendship with Sellaphix couldn’t last more than a few months and he was attacking her after one rough patch it would never have worked out anyway.

He walked out to his broom, her gaze tracking his movements, and then he was gone. She stood by the door for a few moments, took a drink, and went inside.

As soon as she did her uncle peeked his head out of his room to look at her. ”Are you okay?

“I’m fine, Duncan. Thank you.”

Finished