[ The Inspiration, cue thread.]


A single bead of ink fell, staining the parchment below with a perfect, circular black dot. Upon impact, it slowly grew in size, expanding outward as it was absorbed. The long, eagle feather quill remained poised above the scrolled canvas, its point tinted black and another droplet gathering at the tip. It was quite an ordinary form with the ordinary fields. The top had already been completed in the Head Auror’s signature compact yet elegant script. Case Number. That had been simple. MLE 2051-01. Suspects. No individual leads. Victims. It had become a little harder. Akiva Katz. Nature of the crime. That had been when the quill froze.

Rain fell in sheets from the enchanted window of Tamis Raynor’s office. It was an improvement on the monsoon Magical Maintenance had plagued the underground Level Two with for the past week, but it did little to improve the somber mood of the office. The desk she was seated at in the back was sufficiently lit but the front had only a handful of floating candles and what light filtered through the open threshold as aides. Almost the end of Office Hours, Tamis took to extinguishing the candles, everlastingly enchanted or not, she preferred to preserve light. The resulting effect cast the interior in gloomy shades of warm orange.

Sixteen days. It had been sixteen days, little over two weeks, since Akiva Katz had been found in Hogsmeade and transported to the home of Tulojow Nagde. Sixteen days and still no answers for the offering. Just an unusual insignia branded onto the wrist of a traumatized woman who could not remember how she got it or what had happened to her; only that it had been terrifying. A woman whom might be haunted for the rest of her life with that not knowing. A woman that they could not try and break through the mental barriers too aggressively without fear of causing further psychological harm. A woman – who had always been brilliant and cheerful and managed to even brighten a naysayer like Tamis Raynor’s day.

Before the second drip of ink could mar the official document, Tamis tossed the quill aside, allowing the ink to soak into the woodwork instead. The unfinished lines still glared up at her, almost mockingly. Resting her elbow on the desk, she ran her hands through her hair and gripped it, closed her eyes, and was content to stay like that.

After all these years, she thought she had become strong enough. She had been sure that if she segregated her heart from everything else that she could somehow save it, keep it from feeling this kind of pain again. Family she could barely remember was not much of a factor but Tait Aldridge had been life altering. The resulting security walls had been cracked throughout the Second War, the foundation weakened by the loose of Benjamin Timmins – and his son, her godson, that she still had not talked to. And now, now they were crumbling, revealing fourteen years of avoided emotions. It was utterly ridiculous. Childishly foolish. Why could she not write in a few measly lines of information?

She had been proud of herself, thus far. It had almost been too much, discovering Katz after believing her dead. But she had preserved, because it had been necessary. Just as in the two weeks preceding it had been necessary, others had counted on her. A good few of her men had needed her to be strong as an example, Aberdeen Spencer for example. But after her confrontation with Edward Pratt just the other day, she no longer was certain in her resolve. How could she question his mental soundness, when she was so uncertain of her own? She did not like being a hypocrite.

Most of her paperwork had been completed yesterday and most of that even further in advance. But this case was current, one of the newest, and she had pulled a lot of strings, created a lot of bureaucratic hoops, in the early stages. As a result, the necessary paperwork from other divisions had not come in until this morning. She had not gathered enough courage to face completing it until now, creating as many excuses as she could. Now she was out of excuses.

Why was it so hard to make a handful of, ultimately, insignificant sentences?

The clock was just about to strike six o’clock, a normal end of the day for Archer Radley.  Generally, they were all working far later than they had to these days, but he wanted to make sure that Tamis wasn’t running herself into the floor.  She had a tendency to overwork herself and shut down after these kinds of things, and he only recognized the all too familiar demeanor for over ten years of knowing her and her situation.  Glancing at his watch, he tossed the quill he had been using back into the holder, running his hand down his face.

He was so tired and had to go home and was probably going to pass out as soon as he got there, window slightly open just in case an emergency owl had to come or some other message.  He was constantly ready to just jump up and go – sometimes he even fell asleep in his work clothes.  The mornings he woke up with a nice imprint of his badge into his chest were always interesting.  He kicked his chair back and stretched his legs out before he even attempted to stand, having worked on some of the paperwork for the Remembering Day Incident – follow-ups that they had yet to actually complete. 

The backup was infuriating in the office.  Not only were they dealing with an entirely new set of crimes (ushered in by the dramatic discovery of Miss Katz), but they had a host of old crimes that just seemed to run cold.  Leads were going nowhere and the disappearance of the murderer, Kyle Gibson, was proving even more frustrating now that there were other things to handle – things that they could feasibly solve.  When did finding a seventeen year old become so hard?  He sighed heavily and let his shoulders drop as he cracked his knuckles for the fortieth time that day. 

The last two weeks were hell.  But, he was handling it better than some people, he thought as he stood up and looked across the office (it was quite easy to do when one towered over the tops of the cubicles).  He peered straight through the open door of his boss and shook his head. The way she sat, her hand in her hair, head hung low, a quill dismissed off to the side.  He sighed, glad most of the office had already cleared out for the evening, just a few stragglers (like himself) finishing up.  Luckily, none of them were going to be intrusive like he was.  They probably knew better, but Archer was adamant to make sure his boss and friend did not break like a crystal unicorn.

Slowly, but purposefully walking toward the office, he threw glances around just to make sure no one really was going to follow him – glad when the last of them stayed where they were, and he quietly entered the office.  He had learned to control his steps to produce the least amount of noise possible, typically for apprehending criminals, but not provoking the agitated lioness was another good reason to be soft-shoed.  Passing through the threshold, he didn’t knock, but rather walked right in and took a seat across from her desk in the comfortable chair usually reserved for guests of the woman – frequently inhabited by the very male who sat in it now. 

“Hey Ray,” he stated softly, leaning back in the seat, taking his wand out to flick it at the door, shutting it swiftly, but quietly.  He figured whatever was going through her head didn’t need to go through the rest of the office.  “It’s six o’clock,” he informed her, “time to get going.  Even we need to put our work down and relax sometimes.” 

The sound of Archer Radley’s voice anchored her back to reality. An unwelcome reality she wished to continue to escape. Being left alone with her thoughts was not exactly the preferable alternative, however. With great reluctance she looked up, her steel gray eyes muted and distant and her hair still spilling over the hand supporting her head. Her vision settled, focusing on the large man lounging back in the armchair in front of her desk.  She had not even heard him enter the office. It took an Auror to sneak up on an Auror, the old saying went.

It was past six, already? Raynor had thought it was earlier still. Evaluating the man before her more closely, she could read signs of fatigue in his face. It was surprising that he was still here. It had been a desk jockey day. Radley usually was out of his desk the moment the large hand struck twelve on the clock.

With a subconscious sigh, her hand completed its journey through her hair and she sat up a little straighter, every movement seemed sluggish, as if the commands from her brain were getting misconstrued on their way to the desired limb. It was early in the evening, too early for a woman used to long hours to be tired. She could not even muster the energy to berate him for coming in unannounced. It had been unannounced… right?

“Cannot leave yet,” she replied.

Her gaze drifted past him, blurring him from her focus as she took in the closed door. An anomaly in and of itself, she never closed her door. Nor could she remember closing it. Had he? She had not heard it. It should have bothered her that she was so detached from her surroundings; it should have been extremely concerning. But the fact was extraneous and did not seem all that important at the moment. She refocused, allowing the background to distort as she centered in on Radley again before dropping back to the still incomplete document.

“I have to finish this, first.”

There was a lump in her throat she could not swallow. She felt… she was not sure how to describe this feeling. But she did not like it. It made her felt like she was tilting on the edge of a cliff and about to fall into a dark void that she could not see the bottom of – if it had a bottom. She had been looming over the paperwork for too long, she decided. It was an exhausting procedure. Maybe if she took a quick break, the world would stop playing in slow motion.

Generally, when someone like Tamis did not even get up from her seat when she noticed what time it was, it meant there was something seriously wrong.  The cloudiness in her eyes alerted him to just how out of sorts she was, not to mention the darkness about her eyes and did he detect some puffiness?  He didn’t know much about skin care or anything, but he was fairly sure when someone looked as though they had been punched in each eye, they were not sleeping enough, or eating enough, or taking care of any of the basic needs of survival to a point of being completely healthy.  Though he usually did not find it legitimate to lecture anyone on these points, especially since he spent most evenings eating instant noodles, but she hadn’t looked like this in a long time. 

He remembered the last time she was this out of it, and it hadn’t been when she had this much responsibility.  It had been at Tait’s funeral (the team had attended, of course), and he just knew the face.  He knew the mental anguish she was going through and though she hadn’t lost her fiancé this time, she had suffered the loss of a good friend, one of her best friends as far as Archer could tell, in May, had not dealt with it – and then almost lost another friend just over two weeks ago.  The way they found her probably didn’t help Tamis’s mindset either.  So, he wasn’t going to leave.

He was especially concerned about her lack of full sentences.  She was generally far too formal for her own good.  For her to address him without some semblance of proper grammar (not that he could really deconstruct a sentence or anything, but he knew the gist), there was a problem.  “Yes you can,” he replied simply, pushing himself out of the comfortable chair (he found it oddly difficult to sit straight in front of her).  He didn’t want to see her like this, at least not on eye level, and he took a seat on the corner of her desk.

He probably looked a little odd to any observer (not that anyone but Tamis could see), using the desk to lean on, and he peered over the desk to look at the report she was working on.  It all fit together now.  He sighed and used his right hand to rub his cheeks and temples.  This was a tough situation, and she didn’t want to leave yet.  It was clear by the quill on the other side of the desk that she did not want to do this paperwork either, she would be here for hours, left alone with her thoughts if he didn’t intervene.  And somehow, he didn’t think the thoughts she was having were good to have alone. 

 “Ray,” he started, his typically rough voice softening just a little for his usual partner and respected friend, “you can do this tomorrow.  Let’s go,” he chuckled awkwardly and rubbed his hands on his hips, looking around the office at the sparse decorations, taking his eyes off his boss for a moment, “we’ll get a drink or something – you can use it.”  He looked down at her again and nodded sagely, “my expert skills of observation tell me it is essential that you acquire some fire whiskey,” he reached in front of her to pull the report away, possibly to slip into a folder that was near his left hand.   

Quicker than even she believed possible, her hand snaked out and slapped down flat against the piece of parchment as Radley tried to slide it away from her. There was a residual tingling sting that coursed through the many delicate bones that, if it did not know any better, she might have thought that she broken something. She was pressing so hard against that single layer of sheep’s skin that it felt like her palm was going to meld into the woodwork. He could still continue to pull it away, at the almost certain risk of tearing it.

“I do not drink,” she managed to remind him through her clinched jaw.

It had been a very long time since she had felt like this. She was beginning to remember what feeling like this meant. The day of Tait’s funeral she had resolved that she never wanted to feel that way again. It hurt too much. Literally tortured, physically and mentally, with the one thing she held closest to her brutally snatched away. She lost something that she never thought she would be able to get back again. With him gone, she could not be weak anymore, she could not allow others to protector her, to get hurt for her, so she shoved all that pain into a big dark room, locked the key, and joined the Auror Corps. She gained a reputation as being an Ice Witch and was fine with it. But Timmins… another close individual murdered swifter, at least, but more brutally right before her eyes, once again. Akiva alive, but a mess.

She should be able to deal with all of this. Knew she was able. Why was it all coming down on her now over a few lines of paperwork?

“The report has to be in by tomorrow,” she was not sure if she was telling him or herself. She did not find it unusual that he was perched on the edge of her desk. He often sat that way. She clung to that little piece of familiarity and stability.  “The investigation cannot move further until – “ The fingers of her hand were turning white and the arm had begun to shake uncontrollably. The truth of the matter was that until Akiva Katz could remember anything, there was no moving further on the case. Another cold case. It was Timmins all over again. It was… it was Tait all over again. But this time the criminal did not have the mercy to finish the deed. It was… so frustrating.

“I have certain responsibilities. I cannot abandon them just because it becomes a little difficult, “she sounded angry now, honing all those miserable feelings into one that she was very familiar with. But it was truth as well. Did he really expect her to just abandon her job? For personal reasons? She was not that kind of person. Not that kind of woman. She did not get emotional.

Apparently she was about to prove herself wrong.

“Please. Please, leave.” It was almost a whisper; it was most certainly a plea. The last of those walls she had so painstakingly built were eroding. It was too sudden and provoked by something too insignificant. There was fourteen years of bundled up baggage ready to flood past that overwhelmed dam.  She did not want him to see that. Not Archer Radley.  He did not deserve to see that.

It was worse than he had expected.  Her swift reflexes snapped the paper right out from under his hand and she was holding it down with her own strength.  He wasn’t going to fight with her, and seeing the white of her knuckles, immediately retracted his large hand from the file.  He wouldn’t push her to let go yet, but he wasn’t going to leave her here and let it eat at her.  She was too good at what she did to burn out and have to give it up because of a few rough months.  Granted, they were like almost nothing they had ever seen – Archer couldn’t remember anything quite so violent and ruthless since a little over a decade ago, and here it was, resurfacing again. 

When it had happened the first time around, Archer had been more than happy to forget what he was doing and go through several drinks a night, particularly when he had nothing better to do, but Tamis wasn’t like that.  She wasn’t the type of woman to want to forget what she was doing – what she had to accomplish.  He was reminded of this by a harsh declaration and clenched jaw, she was not joking around.  “How about the best tea in Britain, on me?” he asked, trying to lure her out of the office, knowing that it was going to take something more than just the promise of a good cup of tea to do it. 

All the memories and things that resurfaced because of the recent events were not pleasant and no one wanted to deal with them, least of all those that lived immersed in their ramifications.  Archer knew that Tamis had a tendency to cling to them though, especially the things she could not fix or solve.  It was exceptionally Ravenclaw of her, to be so attached and relentless when it came to a problem.  She took a lot of personal responsibility for things that couldn’t be fixed or solved either, like she was supposed to have the answer anyway.  She couldn’t have all of them though, it just so happened the ones that she really didn’t have hit her closest to home. 

He heaved a sigh and looked at her as she spoke, eyes affixed downward like it was some sort of puzzle she was trying to solve that couldn’t be torn away – even if the case was going to run cold, she was going to hold herself to it.  Archer had to accept that she was like this, he had come to terms with it years ago when they started working together, but really, the things she couldn’t control – she couldn’t let them take over so much of her life.  It made him worry about her, and he wasn’t the worrying type. “You aren’t abandoning your responsibilities,” Archer countered in what he attempted to make a calm, but serious voice, “You’re putting them until tomorrow because it’s messing with your head.”

The anger was so evident in her voice that he didn’t think he’d have any effect whatsoever, but he had to try.  She was to the point of shaking, her knuckles whiter than the parchment and he sighed.  She was really taking this the hard way.  In a moment of either intense compassion or ridiculous stupidity, Archer put his hand on her wrist, just lightly, and ran his thumb over the side of her hand, trying to coax her into calming down.  He wasn’t going to take the paper away, nothing in his body language betrayed that he had any motive other than making her stop hurting herself. 

He realized, however, that it wasn’t going to do much and stopped trying to soothe her anxiety.  She was too drawn up and she needed a hell of a lot more than his big hand wrapped around her wrist and rubbing it with thumb.  That was like pinpricks to the cactus that she had landed on.  When she told him to leave, however, Archer made his hold on her wrist a little tighter, rocking it back and forth. “I’m not going anywhere, Ray,” he declared – such a stupid thing to do, “not until you decide to leave too.”

He paused for a moment and leaned over, “How about I help you out?” his smile was possibly the most awkward facial expression he had made in a while.  Between genuine concern, terror, and the overwhelming sense of dread that he had kicked up the hornet’s nest of unbridled emotion, he waited either for the breakdown or the blow up.

His words did not fully register. She heard the sound, that recognizable voice almost foreign with the serious edge to it. But she did not try to distinguish the syllables as it would have been wasted effort. She already knew what he was going to say. The two of them had been battling forces of Dark Wizards in close proximity for over a decade now. It was difficult to not learn a bit about the other during the long hours that entailed. Of course she was not abandoning her responsibilities. She was taking the sensible course of action and saving it for a more reasonable hour. See, she knew. The only problem was that it was not her head that was being inflicted.

It was not about the unsolved cases. Not exactly. It was the select individuals involved in the cases. Individuals that she cared about, that despite all attempts had still managed to wiggle their way into her heart. Was it possible for her to let someone in without it ending in agony? An agony without answers.

A startling warmth settled over her left wrist as Archer encompassed the hand clamped down on the parchment with one of his much larger ones, dwarfing hers in comparison. It was a light pressure, barely a sweep of skin against skin as he rubbed his thumb gently against the lateral side of her hand. But for a woman not accustomed to physical contact (it was usually a gesture others avoided at all costs), she felt every brush.  Tamis was sure that it was a motion of comfort and support, but the feeling was alien enough to be unsettling. But she did not draw away and she did not yell at him.

It was a successful distraction and the tension in her hand relaxed, slightly. The bones were no longer as predominate and some color returned to her fingertips and knuckles, even if she refused to let go of the parchment still.

His grip tightened, forcing her to lift her eyes and actually meet his gaze, something that she had been carefully avoiding. She was, after all, his superior, even if that standing was rarely enforced, especially when alone. Partners had to be equals when guarding each other’s backs. But she was still supposed to be the one in control, the one who always had it together. In a way, she felt like she was failing him. That was why he had to leave; he could not be there when she lost that control.

And then, then he told her that he would not leave.

Anger brought on by frustration brought on by anguish overcame her and that thin restraint on her emotions was tested. It was only the eye contact she held with the man that quelled it. There was sincere concern lurking in those dark eyes of his. The usual charm and mischievous flame were muted with worry. It was so out of character that it scared her back from the brink and her irritation.

He leaned forward and attempted to smile. But his face was so contorted by a slew of other emotions that the overall impression was one close to constipation. In better circumstances, she might have laughed. Instead, it came out as a half laugh, half sob and she leaned back in her chair, shoulders slump in defeat, though she still did not move the hand connected with his.

“You are a very stubborn man,” she complained, her voice thick.

Her vision blurred and her throat burned uncomfortably. She swallowed heavily and lifted her free hand to shield her face from him, shaking was a general theme for her now as she still desperately tried to hold it all back. She was not going to cry. Tamis Raynor did not cry and had not cried in fourteen years. She was not going to break that record now.

Waiting on bated breath, Archer let his shoulders drop a little when he was reassured that she wasn’t going to yell or curse him.  He couldn’t really know what she was going to do to him, but he was going to endure it.  She needed to let out whatever emotion she was fighting with anyway, it was better than keeping it in.  When he was really upset, he usually found his way to a muggle shooting range and fired off a few rounds, just to release that anxiety through another means, he didn’t know if Tamis would be so much for that, but maybe he’d take her one day. 

It would have to be very soon, he thought, if she was going to go on like this and he needed to be the strong one.  Usually, they were both fairly strong individuals.  Neither had to really lean on someone else even when the situation became tough, but right now, he was the one who was taking the charge.  She felt like she had to be that way, he thought, but she didn’t.  He understood that things were tough and she was personally affected. 

He let his very contorted smile soften into something that was much more like a real smile as soon as she sat back and chuckled awkwardly, keeping his hand around her wrist.  His other hand ran through his hair and over the back of his neck, rubbing the flesh there in a massaged sort of motion.  He continued to rock her hand back and forth again, glad that she wasn’t sobbing uncontrollably or biting his head off with her caustic screaming. 

Instead, she just declared what they all knew – he was stubborn.  Smirking at her, Archer sighed.  “Yea, well, so are donkeys.  Let’s see if I’m an ass for this or not,” he commented, a little proud of himself for his humor in the tense situation (if tension were an opaque cloud, they were certainly not be able to see one another), and looked down at the paperwork again.  He knew they needed to do it, that Tamis needed to sign off on it, and it had to get filed.   Archer wanted to get it done, then they could leave and he could make sure she wasn’t going to fall apart and the central office wasn’t going to fall apart with her. 

Though there was a heavy amount of independence in the office, but Tamis was an organizer and she did a bang up job of it.  “Come on,” he patted her wrist and picked up the quill, holding it out to her, “if you don’t want to write it, I can.  I just need you to tell me what to put down.”

“You are getting very close,” she replied, attempting to return his humor and failing.

He patted her wrist before relinquishing his hold on it. The loss of the contact made her feel more vulnerable, somehow more exposed, but she did not a lot of time to contemplate it as he presented her with the abandoned writing instrument. 

It was pride that made her reach for the quill. Pride, she had been told many times, would ultimately be the one thing that she would actually go to Hell for – if she believed in such things or such places. It was most certainly going to be the end of her. Besides, she was not going to torture the man with actually having to write it; just offering was a major ordeal for him. And she did not think she could say it out loud. It was just a few lines of sentences, after all.

Delicate fingers incased the long feathered quill and dipped it back into the inkwell. Shifting forward she leaned toward the parchment and consequently Archer, who was still perched on the corner of her desk. The quill was a little bit more than unsteady in her hand and the writing, while legible, was not her usual caliber. Every letter took a painstaking effort and seemed to take an even more physical toll on the woman as the battle within her grew in intensity. She was surprised that she could make them out to write them, her vision was so compromised.

After an eternity, the vibrating quill was carefully relinquished and the inkwell securely lidded. She nudged the report away from her across the desk as if willing it to somehow disappear.

“It is finished,” she told him. And with it, the case was as completed as it ever was going to be without Akiva Katz’ memories. Her professional responsibilities with it were done until they miraculously found new developments. With that pressure lifted off her shoulders, she could no longer hide behind responsibility as an excuse, she was forced to confront the internal battle.

“It is finished,” she repeated again, this time with a different connotation.

Something small and wet hit the desk. Tamis looked down at the single, salty droplet bewildered and uncomprehending. Another one splashed down next to it. Gingerly, she lifted a hand to her face and felt the aqueous train trailing down her cheek. It could not possibly be tears. She could not have possibly produced those. She was just imagining them. But however much she denied it, those tears were very real. Too real. And once they started, she could not get them to stop. The facet only wanted to turn one way, so to speak, and the more she turned trying to turn it off, the faster it seemed to pour.

She buried her face in her hands, letting her hair veil around her face like a protective shield.

“I am sorry, I am so sorry,” her voice caught, choking the words.

They really were in trouble here, Tamis Raynor was actually apologizing. If she did not know any better, Tamis might have said that Archer Radley had planned this. She would plan her revenge… later.

In some ways it was better that she accepted the responsibility of doing the report.  She needed to put the quill to the paper and let herself take control of the situation.  She needed to do it without blaming herself and worrying about what had happened as an extension of her work.  She couldn’t save everyone, they tried their damnedest, but it just wasn’t possible.  They did their best and at least Katz wasn’t dead.  Sure, she would live with some scars and a few hang ups, but at least she would live.  It was better for her and everyone else – he couldn’t even imagine what would have happened if the librarian had been killed in the course of whatever had occurred.

It bothered him too, as much as he didn’t say it.  The fact that she had that mark on her wrist, the fact they had no idea what it was or why it was there, what they had to do to approach the situation, it was a little overwhelming for him too.  She was laboring through her feelings though while he had gone to take care of it a few times, had put his mind to something else.  She was just dwelling on it though, and he sat nearby as she worked through it.

Maybe, if he pushed hard enough, she would be forced to let her emotions speak for themselves.  It wasn’t the direct motive of the whole thing, but if it happened, all the better.  She needed to deal with it – to really come to grips with what was going on in her head or she was going to trip up and get herself in trouble with work, or worse yet, in trouble in the field.  He couldn’t afford to have to watch both of them and focus on her because she couldn’t focus on herself.  It was just not good for either of them if she wasn’t on her best game. 

When she finally finished, he reestablished the contact between his hand and her wrist, giving her a comforting sort of smile, “Good job,” he said softly, thinking that was all that she really needed him to say at the moment.  It was unfortunate that it seemed to have such a different affect than he had intended.  All of a sudden, without any warning, he saw the light glimmering off of her eyes in the most peculiar way and then the corners of her eyes filled.  Drip.  They unloaded. 

She was just as surprised as he was, lifting her opposing hand to check the situation, and Archer had no idea what to do.  He had never been very sure he could deal with an angry Tamis, but a sad, distraught, and overly emotional in a soft way Tamis was another monster entirely.  He slid his hand from her wrist to her hand, encasing her much small digits in his own, giving her a little squeeze. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, looking around to the office to really ensure there was no one around.  He didn’t want to embarrass her or himself, seeing as she was sitting at her desk crying and he was here, sitting on the desk, holding her hand like they were fifteen year olds out by the Great Lake after hours.  To some degree, they were those teenagers, just at a completely different point in their lives.  “You did it,” he offered, sliding the paper into the file.  That was enough of that.  He’d handle some of the rest of it later. 

He looked down at her and sighed softly, giving her hand another squeeze.  He didn't know what to say really... wasn't sure if there was anything to say, but at least he was there and that was enough - he hoped.

Every time, it was a different loved one, but it was the same MO. Renwick and Alisa Raynor, thirty years old and twenty three years old respectively, murdered with no leads. Their five year old daughter survived them. The case was written off as one of the many unfortunate murders directly or indirectly related to You-Know-Who. Tait Aldridge, twenty four years old, brutally murdered with suspected black market involvement. Twenty year old fiancé survives him as the only witness. She had been unable to identify the suspects. Benjamin Timmins murdered publicly and horrifically, suspect known but Aurors unable to find him. The thirty four year old Head Auror had been standing mere feet away from him. And now, Akiva Katz, a merciful survivor, but unable to recount what happened to her. Possible victim of a terrorist group. It was by far the least traumatizing, but the most recent.

Her track record with loved ones was not very impressive. Or, rather, it was a little too impressive. Over the course of her life, she had experimented with opening up to others, to various degrees, and it always ended in tragedy. After a lifetime of failed attempts, one had to wonder if was worth the bother of trying. Especially when one was in her line of work and where the day-to-day lifestyle was extremely volatile. Maintaining personal relationships was a constant struggle for Aurors, very few of them were actually able to keep them, and then those always seemed to be riddled with issues. If one was going to live the job, it was simply easier to forgo personal associations long term.

Unable to cope with the dreadful anguish, her philosophy had been to ignore it and let it gradually fade. It had been a rather successful method when she had years between each occurrence to not deal with her issues. Almost two within four months did not fit the carefully crafted mold.  She was afraid to confront those feelings. If she faced it, she would have to come to terms with the fact that she was destined to be alone. And she was not prepared for that. Yet, all those years of pent up sentiments were refusing to be shoved down the hole they had crawled out of. All over one lousy little report. She had a whole new reason to loathe paperwork.

One of her wrists was reclaimed, but this time the warm connection slid downward as her partner and friend intertwined his fingers with hers. Instinctively, she squeezed back with considerably more force. After all, she was not the one that ran the realistic risk of breaking the other’s hand. Radley murmured words of encouragement. Biting down on her lower lip and shaking her head slowly from side-to-side was the only response she could muster. He was being very kind, but given her current thought process… it produced the opposite of the desired effect. A single sob escaped her and she would be damned if she was going to let another one do the same.

There were other significant individuals in her life, other friends. Jason MacDonell was one of them. Some of them came and went over the years. Some she had been close to for an interval of time but had progressively allowed the bond to weaken after a while. Some she always held off at a distance, for safety’s sake.  But since she met him almost thirteen years ago, Archer Radley had been a perpetual, cheeky presence that refused to be ignored. As a result, he had become the most consistent.  If she lost him… as Aurors it was a higher probability.

Much like the movement of particles from high concentrations to low concentrations, once the barrier between inner core of the woman and the outside world became permeable, the flood kept on pouring out, slowly at first and then growing in intensity as it sought equilibrium.  Despite her attempts, the sobs became more frequent and her face increasingly more wet. It was beyond embarrassing.  Her pride almost could not handle it. She did not want any of the Aurors to see her as a weeping mess, being a woman in a male dominate profession made her too predisposed to that in many of their eyes. She did not want to reinforce that weakness. Of all of them Radley was the one she could endure this the most with, but that also meant that he was dead last on the list she had ever wanted to witness such a display.

That in mind, her grip on his hand loosened and she tried to pull away from him. Undo some of the damage that she had done, even if it was far too late. Why could he have not just left when she had asked? If she had been alone, she knew this would not have become so out-of-hand.

He hadn’t expected that his support would result in more tears.  He thought he would have helped, holding her hand and anchoring her down.  He was always taught that the support of even one team should have lightened the burden, but it appeared to just tear down the flood gates for Ray.  Maybe it would be better for her in the long run, he thought, getting all of this out now.  There wasn’t a soul in the office except for the two of them and that was also a plus.  She didn’t have to worry about being a brick wall in front of Archer; she could just let it out. 

It was a bit of a shock to him that she was just going and going.  Once the tears started, it appeared there was no stopping them.  Even more surprising to him, more than the fact that Tamis Raynor was sitting at her desk crying in front of him while he held her hand was that he didn’t want to leave.  Some men found watching women cry to be the most torturous task in the world, and Archer was usually of that mindset too.  He didn’t want to watch a woman cry, especially his partner.  Thirteen years of working together, some of them were not as close as others, but really, for the greater part of thirteen years, they were Archer and Ray.  They were a team.  They did what they had to for one another, and here he was, just being the person there.

He wanted to be the person there, above all else.  He knew she probably would have been more comfortable with someone else sitting there, maybe someone who wouldn’t see her the next day, or just alone, but Archer wasn’t about to let that happen.  If anyone should have been there, it was her partner.  He felt like he was the best one in the office for the job anyway.  He knew her the best out of the rest of them and too much had happened that he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have even a clue what to do.  Though he wasn’t exactly sure of what he was doing, he felt like he was doing something right.  Someone else couldn’t be trusted to do the same.

She seemed to calm down, if the release of hold on his hand was any indicator.  He was going to smile and tell her to cheer up, but all she did was try to pull away.  He wasn’t okay with that.  She was trying to withdraw into herself again, and that meant severing the connection, literally and figuratively.  Not happening, he thought as he tightened his grip on her hand, disallowing for her to take advantage of the opportunity to get rid of him.  “It’s okay,” he said softly, giving her another squeeze.  He figured she had squeezed back before, that had to mean she was going to return it now. 

“You’ll feel better if you just… get it out,” he tried to offer, sounding like some kind of cheesy little card or something.  He wanted to help her, really, and digging in his pocket, he was lucky enough that he had actually carried a square of fabric with him.  As he fumbled it out of his pocket, the rune his mum had given him for protection tumbled out onto the desk with a little clink.  Something in his head clicked and he abandoned the fabric, picking the rune up, he tossed it in the air, catching it in his hand and then placing it in front of Tamis, face up so the rune stared up at her.

“I’ve been carrying this with me since I was eighteen,” he informed her (he had never let go of her hand in all of this), “my mum gave it to me when I got accepted into the auror training program.  It’s for protection and strength.  Maybe I’m a mum’s boy,” he chuckled a little awkwardly, “but it has always made me feel a little more in control.  Give it a squeeze, you’ll see.” 

It would have been simpler to withdraw back into her comfort zone, to pull away from him and draw back into herself. To act as if nothing had happened. Her fingers loosened and he almost let her slip away to her victory. Then he caught on. She could have continued to pull away, at the risk of losing her arm. His fingers restricted tightly between hers, his fingertips applying an uncomfortable, but not painful, pressure along the top of her knuckles. It was a firm warning and Tamis was smart enough to take it seriously.

She stopped trying to pull away from him, which produced more soft spoken words and another encouraging squeeze. It was almost like he was comforting a hysterical child. However much she tried to feel offended, it was a fitting analogy. Swallowing heavily, she did not return the pressure, but she did not try and escape him again either.  The tears were still leaking steadily, but the sobbing was not as prominent anymore. Despite how much she would rather deny it, he was right, and she was beginning to feel considerably better. The pain was still there, but it did not seem as overwhelming.

Managing to nod, she kept her eyes trained downward, concentrating on regulating her breathing around her stuffy nose – no easy feat. She was not aware of what Archer had fished out of his pocket until he slid it under her line of view, offering an explanation as he did so. It was surprisingly random enough to shock her from the point of hysteria and back into a sensible realm of thinking. Tamis was a very evidence driven individual; wand magic, transfiguration, potions, herbology, they were all areas of magic that one could see, feel, watch the effects happen. They were grounded in reality.  The softer magics, such as Divination, were lost on the witch. She had taken Ancient Runes as a student and believed it to an extent. But her opinion on such things was inconsequential. It was the fact that Archer clearly did as he pushed the rune toward her and what he was trying to share through it. 

The forefinger of her free hand traced the embossed symbol, following the Y-shaped structure that had three forks rather than two, the third protruding down the center. For protection and strength. Picking it up, she let it rest along her fingers and rubbed her thumb along the imprinted surface.  Had it since he was eighteen? She had never seen it before and she was positive none of the other Aurors had either. Her cheeks were still streaked, her nose still a cherry blossom red, and, if the burning at either side of her nose was any indication, her eyes were still bloodshot. But when she looked up at him, the tiniest of a smile was present. It was close lipped, tight, and sad, but it was genuine.

“I already have my protective rune,” she told him, finally returning the squeeze between their clasped hands.

Archer never told anyone about the present his mother had given him.  It wasn’t something he waved about like a banner marking the relationship he had with his parents.  They loved him dearly, like they loved all their boys, and since all three had decided to enter exceptionally dangerous careers, they had to find some solace, something to anchor onto and some superstition never hurt anyone.  He remembered his mother giving it to him – she had been considerably less wrinkled, less rotund, and more brunette back then.  She had been crying the entire time. 

It felt like a proper time to recall such a memory.  He had accepted the rune graciously when his mother presented it, and now he was again the stoic one as a woman cried in front of him.  A strong woman at that.  His mum was strong, so was Ray.  Sometimes it was hard to even put her in the category of woman, she was so tough.  He didn’t see her as what her physical body represented most of the time; she was just his tiny partner who wasn’t going to take nonsense from anybody.  Lately, his perception was shifting, but it wasn’t in a negative manner.  It was just something he had never really seen before.

He was surprised, at this moment, to see the rare smile she bestowed on almost no one, given to him.  She declared that she already had a protective rune and squeezed his hand with what he perceived to be sympathy.  Sometimes, when dealing with women, Archer had absolutely no idea what was going on and sighed, his brows furrowing.  He had intended to give her the rune, but if she already had one… well, he scrunched his nose and squinted his eyes (a very chipmunk like expression), and thought about it for a second. 

“It couldn’t hurt to have two,” he responded simply, letting go of her hand to take the other, closing her fingers around the little silver pendant, signifying that he wanted her to have it.  “It’s for someone who needs it – and you need it.” 

She could do more with it now than he could, and he could just say that it got lost and his mum would give him another, he wanted her to have the original.   Maybe, one day, he’d be able to tell his mum what he did with it – but for now, he was fairly sure she would get on his case for it, particularly in the way of wanting him to follow up on a rune with something of significantly more material value, but he placed a lot of value on that pendant over the years, and it had been with him through a lot of scrapes, including a rather bad wound to the side, it would do her well. 

He patted her clasped hand one more time and smiled easily at her, leaning back and standing up straight, offering his hand to help her up.  “Come on,” he inclined his head toward the door, “if you're ready, let’s go.  It’s late and that tea isn’t going to buy itself.”

Of all the times to be so completely and entirely male.

Over the course of their careers Aurors learned how to create an unexpressive stony ‘mask’ that gave the onlooker little to no idea as to what they were thinking.  As a result, Aurors were rarely invited to inter-departmental poker nights but, the ability made them very efficient interrogators and investigations. Tonight, however, neither one of them were wearing those masks. Archer’s face wrinkled like a shar-pei, the space between his eyes and the bridge of his nose constricting in complete and utter confusion. She could almost hear the wheels in his head slowing. Had she had something wrong?

It could not hurt to have two? After a long moment, she realized how he had interpreted her words and the touching moment shattered. Oh. Merlin. All she could do was shake her head.

The embossed Y pressed against the inside of her fingertips as Archer closed them over the silver pendant. Dumbfounded, the petite witch blinked down at her now clasped hand, unsure of what was more bewildering; the fact that he had just given her a keepsake he had preserved for about two decades or that he had completely and entirely misunderstood her. In the end, she decided it was an uncomfortable combination of both.

 “I --” The words faltered in her mouth.

His mother had given it to him. When he was accepted into the Program. Tamis had never met Mrs. Radley before but she was sure the woman would not approve of her son passing along such a momento. She also doubted that any woman that raised a man like Archer was a very placid individual. It was a combination for disaster. Woe to Mrs. Radley that Tamis Raynor rarely backed down when faced with adversity. It did not matter that she believed such things were merchandise of con-artists.  Nor did it matter what her conscience was chattering about concerning Mrs. Radley. It mattered that he believed in its value and that he wanted her to have it, based on that belief. She could not give it back. Would not give it back.

It was… unsettling receiving a gift with so much inferred value. Tamis was not accustom to being bestowed with presents and the significance of that was agitating already disturbed emotions. She was deeply touched. The small woman had never been very good at vocalizing how she was feeling. Nor did she know what the appropriate traditions to such an exchange were called for. It was safe to say that she was stumped. She nodded in place of a verbal response.

The smirk she offered him made her features much more recognizable. The burning had dulled around her eyes, but she suspected her nose was still a soft shade of pink and her face still blotchy. But she looked a little more like Tamis Raynor than a hysterical imposter. She had not cried in many years and never in front of another person, not even Tait. It left her feeling rather exposed and vulnerable in the aftermath, but somehow she knew it was going to be all right.

“Sometimes,” she sighed, breaking some of the tension as she accepted the pro-offered hand up, “You are too dense for your own good.”