Between visiting Akiva at the Ministry Library around lunchtime and taking time out to go with Robin to the local muggle children's clinic in the afternoon (Luke had a meeting he couldn't reschedule), Aberdeen had the feeling she would be staying late at work to catch up. It wasn't always the hours that counted as much as the results, but Aberdeen's meticulous nature, while usually paying off in the long run, did make for some lengthy casework. Not that she minded much; it was what she lived for. That, and family and friends, the few that she had. That was why it was important to visit Akiva on her first day back at work after the kidnapping, and why she was currently standing at the reception desk of the pediatrician with Robin curled up wearily in her arms.

'It's Robin Adani,' she told the receptionist, in that clear but hesitant voice she tended to reserve for people on the chair side of the window. 'Four o' clock?'

The receptionist glanced down at her planner. 'Ah, yes. That tummy bug still not gone?' Aberdeen shook her head, grimacing on Robin's behalf. 'You'll be seeing Dr Frobisher. It should only be a few minutes before you can go in. Would you like to take a seat? You can put the buggy with the coats over there.'

'Thanks,' Aberdeen replied, and pushed the buggy into the corner of the wall lined with coat hooks. Robin didn't seem in the mood to sit in it just now; he'd been whining quietly for the duration of the bus journey until Aberdeen had picked him up. Trying to maneuver a buggy while balancing a toddler on her hip had been a little trying, but Robin was evidently in a clingy mood and seemed much more content to be held.

Sitting down with her son on her lap, Aberdeen carefully brushed his dark hair from his face. His forehead still felt quite warm. Glancing about the room for something to divert him, she noticed an activities table in one of the corners. 'Do you want to play over there with the beads, Robin? Or the little cars?'

'No,' Robin mumbled, and nuzzled his head against her shoulder. Aberdeen sighed and gave him a cuddle. 'Poor baby bear,' she soothed him softly. 'Well, don't worry sweetheart, you'll be better soon. The doctor will see if the medicine's working, and then we'll go back home and have some dinner--'

'But it hurts,' whimpered Robin. Aberdeen kissed his forehead.

'I know, darling, but you still need to eat. Don't worry, it's be nice and plain and you won't need to eat too much. And then Daddy will come home, and he'll help you with bathtime, and read you some stories before you go to bed. Does that sound nice?'

Robin nodded, his little arms still folded around his abdomen. 'Can I have a story now?'

Aberdeen smiled a little, and rooted in her shoulder bag for one of Robin's books. 'Okay, Robs. But only until the doctor is ready to see you.'

So, muggle studies had its value.  Cinaed never thought he'd actually be willing to consider that but, finally, the pathetic subject had found its application.  He never would have considered taking the class himself and he never would have thought one of his best mates would have been any more likely to take it.  But, - Cin never thought he'd say it - by some surprising stroke of luck, Chris Colburn's parents had decided he'd benefit from taking the class. 

A rather blood traitorous move but it was proving useful. 

Cradle the kid.  Pretend to care.  Stick the weird beeping thing in the kid's ear.  Ask questions like 'any fever' or ... bah, Cinaed couldn't remember.  But, if push came to shove, apparently he could say he needed to check in on another patient and go force some answers out of the little brat's regular doctor who was conveniently immobilized and stashed in a back broom cupboard - no ... closet. 

For almost two weeks, when not trapped in the Bridge House, an entirely unremarkable magpie had been following behind Blond Auror and her little brat.  This was the type of situation that required patience and dedication.  He couldn't rush it - when the right time came, it'd be obvious.  Being impatient and careless could get him landed back in Azkaban faster than he can sneeze. 

Adjusting the strange, white robes on his shoulder, Cinaed stared at the clean cut, short-haired muggle looking back at him.  The strangely cut, light green shirt he wore under the white robes were surprisingly comfortable.  With a deep steadying breath, Cinaed listened to the ... what did they call them? ... nurse's voice on the other side of the door call, "Robin, are you ready?" 

As he waiting for the nurse to lead them into the room, Cinaed had to admit, he was nervous.  There'd be no room for mistakes.  And, he was so far out of his usual element he couldn't help but second guess every movement.  But, with a turning of the doorknob, the show was on.  The nurse ushered Blond Auror and the kid into the room. 

"Good afternoon," Cinaed offered, his own voice sounding foreignly higher pitched in his own head.  "I hear we aren't feeling much better?"

'Not really,' Aberdeen told him, hoisting Robin up again as he started to slip down. 'I mean, it's not got any worse, particularly. And he's keeping his food down okay now, it's just that he doesn't have much of an appetite, Luke and I are wondering if he's getting enough... His stomach just isn't comfortable, is it pet?' She peered down at the toddler, but he didn't seem interested in contributing, he simply persisted in nestling into his mother's shoulder, clutching his 'Dragon Goes Shopping' book to him as though it were a comfort blanket. 'And I thought he still feels a bit warm... I might just be imagining that...'

She looked back up at the doctor and gave him an apologetic smile. A pediatrician was almost certainly used to flustered, fretting parents, but that didn't mean she couldn't take a look at herself and recognise she might be worrying too much. Still, when it came to Robin, Aberdeen's philosophy was always 'better safe than sorry'. Nothing was more important than Robin's wellfare, after all. 'Sorry to fuss. I think I drive Robin a bit 'round the bend with it too. Bit overprotective, I'm afraid. My husband and I are hoping that this is just the first round of winter bugs getting to him early and that it'll work itself out... Still thought we ought to make sure it's not turning into anything serious though, y'know?' Painfully aware she was rambling, Aberdeen firmly closed her mouth into a polite smile. Almost unconsciously, her free hand found Robin's, and squeezed it a little to reassure him.

This had been a mistake.  Surely, Cinaed could have found some better method to go after this witch - why had he let Chris talk him into this?  Probably - it had been for Chris' own entertainment.  Cinaed could imaging the younger curly-headed wizard sitting off back at the Leaky Cauldron (being the least gruff looking between them - he always had a much easier time blending in to the more respectable establishments) laughing at the insanely precarious position Cinaed had put himself in. 

He had no idea what to do with kids - aside from that stray curly-headed girl that Seamus had led home that one day, he'd always had very little to do with the things.  And, now, here he was - playing Healer ... wait, no ... doctor with this Auror's kid.  And he had to be convincing.  A dark alley or even a corner of a pub would have worked fine for Cinaed but, no, Chris was convinced playing doctor was the best option.  The bastard. 

"Still feeling warm?  That's unusual," Cinaed said - emulating the scene he'd seen in that muggle show Chris had showed him as "research."  Cinaed nodded his head to the nurse who, apparently, would know exactly what to do.  And, sure enough, she took out the strangely shaped thing and stuck it in the kid's ear. 

"Temperature's slightly elevated," the nurse offered, flashing the thing at him.  An utterly useless bit of information. 

Now, according to the information he'd forced out of the real doctor, he was supposed to take the kid and check him out.  Considering the kid was latched onto his mother like a venomous tentacula latched onto a lizard, it seemed like a near impossibility.  "Alright, well, let's take a look here."  Another line stolen from that muggle show.  Hoping, praying it'd be this easy, he held out his hands to take the kid.

Robin didn't pay much mind to the doctor holding out his arms to take him; he continued to knot one fist into the fabric of his mother's jacket, the other clenched onto his storybook, looking generally under the weather and sorry for himself. Aberdeen, giving the doctor a small, polite smile which she hoped translated as 'Don't worry, I have it under control,' proceeded to unlatch the two-year-old from her. Or, attempted to. Robin whimpered at being moved, so with an apologetic look to the doctor for the delay, she quickly shushed Robin in as both a soothing and efficient manner as possible, gave him one last little cuddle, then swiftly transferred him out of her arms and into the doctor's. Robin stuck his lower lip out in a distinctly disapproving manner, but at least he wasn't crying yet. Those quiet grumbles didn't bode terribly well though.

'He doesn't cope too well with being ill,' Aberdeen explained, her voice quiet and apologetic once again. Feeling slightly disloyal to Robin by saying this, she added in a slightly louder voice, 'But he's very brave about it. Aren't you, sweetheart?' Robin didn't dignify the comment with a response. 'We wonder sometimes if he has... a bit of a weak constitution, or something like that. He's such a fragile boy sometimes. His biological mother was like that was too, a bit more delicate than usual, y'know?' The expression in her eyes changed, softening to something distant and almost wistful. The rest of her face, however, she kept in check. It was a response she had conditioned in herself whenever her mind turned to Margo Valdaine, because the next thing it would turn to almost immediately was almost always an emptiness in Aberdeen's life that should be filled by Margo, but wasn't.

Though rather timid as a teen, every since his release from Azkaban, Cinaed wasn't the most susceptible man to fear.  In fact, under most circumstances, he reveled in the prospects of danger.  He couldn't remember the last time he, genuinely, felt panicked.  But, as the young boy was transferred into his slightly sweaty hands, he could feel a small hint of alarm building.  What on Merlin's bloody green Earth had he gotten himself into?  For a fraction of a moment, he held the boy at arm's length, staring at him, at a total loss of what to do. 

And, as he gazed at the child, he couldn't deny the sudden, curious feeling of familiarity.  "Strange," he couldn't help muttering as he gazed at the boy.  Something in the boy's features struck a chord in him though, other than being fairly certain Blond Auror was not the source of the familiarity, the moment offered no more clues. 

The nurse cleared her throat and Cinaed was prompted out of his moment of confusion.  "Ahh well, being sick isn't fun," The nurse remarked, breaking the moment of silence, casting a curious, questioning eye at Cinaed. 

"Indeed," Cinaed replied.  He needed to get this going - needed to be done with this.  The longer they lingered, the more apt his complete ineptitude was to become evident.  Pulling a line from Chris' tapes word-for-word, he looked at the nurse.  "It's probably just that bug lingering but, to be on the safe side, let's do a full workup."  To his relief, the nurse seemed to reap more meaning from the phrase than Cinaed ever could.  With a nod, the nurse slipped through the door of the exam room.  Leaving Cinaed alone in the room with the boy and Blond Auror. 

"His biological mother?"  Cinaed repeated.  The boy wasn't hers?  By sheer will, Cinaed avoided looking at Spencer but instead, smiled at the fussy kid.  "Do you know much about his family's health?  Delicate in what way?"  Knowing she was likely to have her wand with her, Cinaed needed to find a way to get her distracted - to drop her gaze.  To give him just that moment to react.

'Oh, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the indepth family medical history,' Aberdeen rambled slightly, eyes following vaguely after the nurse who had just left before they returned to Robin. The two-year-old still seemed rather dispondant, somewhat limp and continuing to look floorward, away from any potential eye-contact. Aberdeen made a mental note to give him some sort of treat after the appointment for making so little of a fuss even though he clearly wasn't in a mood for being out of the house, let alone in a clinic.

'Margo had a bit of a complicated life, no official medical records, at least none recent... But she was just a little on the fragile side, you know? Phyiscally, I mean. She, she had the strongest spirit of just about anyone I know, but... her body let her down sometimes.' She knew as much from what Margo Valdaine had told her in the few months they had to get to know one another. She knew, of course, that it wasn't a matter of delicacy that led to her death, but murder, especially by magical means, was hardly a wise subject to bring up in a muggle clinic. 'Sometimes wonder if she'd been a little stronger, maybe she'd still be here to raise her son.

'We don't know anything at all about the father's genetics,' Aberdeen added, sensing Robin's biological father might be the next logical question. 'Never actually found the father.' It was an indication of how much this still vexed her (though Dr Frobisher would have no cause to know why) that Aberdeen's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit as she said this, practiced as she was at keeping her face void of any emotion except wry cynicism. Robin, quite evidently tuning out of the grown-up talk, yawned and dropped his storybook. Almost as if brought back to the situation at hand by the noise of it hitting the floor, Aberdeen gave another small, apologetic smile, and stooped to pick up the book.

At first, Cinaed didn't give the auror's words much of a second thought.  She'd said them so casually, they seemed all but negligible.  Didn't know the father.  Mother's name was Margo.  She was weak physically.  The kid was two years old.  Of course, all of this could be entirely coincidental - it could be just, simply, chance.  He was sure there were plenty of Margos who'd died after giving birth two years ago. 

After all, that Margo Valdaine was supposed to have been killed.  Before any child would have been born.  That Toby Lear had assure Cinaed he'd seen to the task thoroughly.  The woman was dead.  This ... this boy in his hands had to be a strange, shocking coincidence.  Still trying to come across as a casual doctor's inquiry, he asked, "this Margo ... I didn't catch her last name ... you said it was weakness that had caused her death?"

But, Cinaed had only had a few seconds for those thoughts to sift through his head and to pose that one question.  By the time the words had fully registered in his mind, the window of opportunity had been thrown wide open.  The little squirt - this child - whoever he was - had dropped the book.  Cinaed hugged the child to him with one arm as he slipped his wand out of the deep pockets of the muggle's white robes. 

His mind focused, he pointed his wand squarely and firmly at the doubled over Auror.  "Imperio," he said, firmly, feeling the familiar tendrils of control reaching out towards the woman.   "Take a seat," he directed, keeping the wand drawn until he knew the curse had her fully under his control.

Aberdeen was distracted enough by Robin dropping his book that Dr Frobisher's question didn't quite register at first. Her last clear thought, as she bent to pick up the book, was to wonder why Margo's surname was relevant. And then, all sensible cognition slipped inextricably from her grasp.

She was not aware of kneeling, or crouching, or standing, or whatever in the world she had been doing. She was not aware of the feel of plastic beneath her fingertips as they rested on the cover of the children's book in anticipating of picking it up. All that existed was her, and this blissful, all-enveloping blankness, like a softly comforting white light was pressing gently in upon her from all directions. If Aberdeen had a notion of heaven, it probably would not have been dissimilar from this. All her worries, the things that kept her up at night and hindered her ability to connect emotionally, melted away. It didn't matter that Akiva had been attacked or that Robin hadn't recovered from his tummy bug. It wasn't pertinent that she had made an error in judgement twelve years ago in trusting in an elitist pureblood, or that she had subsequently failed to protect that pureblood's daughter from the people who who ended up killing her. It was like none of these things existed. As though Aberdeen was exonerated from blame, from all responsibility.

It was utterly wonderful. She didn't have to care, think, feel...

So when a small voice somewhere in the corner of this beguilingly-suspended little reality quietly and unobtrusively bade her to 'take a seat,' Aberdeen found herself only to happy to comply. What a simple request it was, in return for this blissfully uncluttered state of mind. She straightened up, as unaware of the vacant expression on her face as she was of everything else outside her own bewitched mind, walked fluidly to the other side of the room, and sank down into one of the chairs.

Blissful, invigorating, strength-imparting warmth spread from his hand where it gripped the wand.  The the tendril fibers of a glowing, radiant web flowed from his fist, up his arm and to his very core.  It was one of the greatest feelings Cinaed had encountered - the feeling of utter, complete control over another.  There was nothing like it. 

The warmth in his hand told him everything he needed to know.  But, watching the woman blankly walk over to a chair and sit herself down only confirmed what he already knew.  He had her.  The plan was underway.  In a few short weeks, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be launched into a mass of chaos and confusion.  This woman would be at the heart of it.  And, Cinaed would be heading home from the Bridge House to a fantastic, all night party. 

The only drawback to the whole situation was Blond Auror hadn't provided an answer  been imperioused before offering an answer about the child.  Who, well aware of his mother's peculiar behavior, fidgeted in Cinaed's arms.  Cinaed looked at the boy, giving him an awkward bounce on his hip while he searched the boy's face for answers.  "Who's your real mother, kid?" he asked, fully aware he wasn't likely to get an answer. 

Blond Auror didn't provide an answer before the curse took effect.  But, now, she was under his control.  His questions would neither be ignored, avoided or denied nor would they raise any suspicions.  But, he didn't have much time.  The nurse was bound to be back soon.  "Tell me who the boy's parents are.  Their full names and how did he get to be in your hands?"  There was no point in being political - she wouldn't know the difference.  Cinaed's impatience was showing through.

Little Robin Adani was looking apprehensively between the 'doctor' and his mother. He was tired, under the weather, and two years old, but the sudden change of manner in the man holding him didn't escape his notice. When asked a question, he didn't take in its meaning, only that something had gone wrong. Of course, he was too young to properly understand. He didn't know just to what extent things were wrong. 'Mummy?' he squeaked meekly, confused by the expression, or rather lack of expression, on her face. 'Mummy?' he said again, but she didn't hear him.

What she heard was the voice that had told her to sit down. The voice that floated through her mind like a light breeze. It wanted to know about the boy... The boy? Oh, it must mean Robin... The knowledge of his existence and the circumstances behind it drifted to the forefront of her thoughts, ready to spill out through her mouth. There was a faint flutter of something at the very back of Aberdeen's mind. Some thought, some feeling, stirring ever so slightly.

Wait... You can't tell anyone that...

She barely noticed it.

'His mother's name is Margo Valdaine,' she said, her voice smooth like liquid just as her walk had been. Untroubled, unconcerned. Outside her consciousness, Robin resumed squirming at hearing the distinct, unsettling change in Aberdeen's tone. But her eyes didn't see him; only a vague impression of the world around her that she no longer cared about. 'I don't know who his father is. Margo ran away from him. She was scared. Scared he would kill her. She was right. She died of a curse just hours after Robin was born. She made me promise to look after him. So my husband and I adopted him.' It all seemed of so little consequence now.

To be truthful, he'd been expecting it.  The confirmation.  The admittance of what he'd come to suspect was the truth.  Already his mind was working through the possibilities - the explanations for the thing ... the little person ... the child in his hands.  But, it took hearing the words from the Auror, under the influence of the imperious curse - with no room for error - for reality to sink in. 

His child.  His son. 

Cin stared at the child.  As if the woman's confession was the last missing piece of the puzzle, other bits and pieces were falling into place.  That familiarity ... that something he'd seen in the boy's face.  It was ... it was family relations.  It was - the boy was a Tawse.  And, now, Cinaed could see it. 

But, the Tawse was being raised by an Auror.  And her husband.  Cinaed was taken with the sudden urge to hold the kid and run.  To take the child.  His gaze even shifted over towards the door as his grip tightened on the boy but before he could act, reason caught up with him.  If he ran out with the child, sporting the doctor's visage, his game would be up.  Chances are, the Ministry would figure out the polyjuice - if they figured that out, he'd be done. 

He snarled and thrust the kid in the auror's hands.  "Get out of here," he snarled.  "And, act normal.  Don't give anyone any reason to suspect.  Get out of my sight, now."  Before he could rethink ... or think too much, he pushed his way out the clinician's door.  All in all, this had been an unfortunate turn of events for this boy's doctor.  Being the next person Cinaed would see, the man was likely to receive the brunt of Cinaed's frustrations. 

Aberdeen was vaguely away of a small, figetting form being pushed into her arms. They enveloped around Robin naturally, almost protectively, as if her maternal instinct still guided their motion even though the Imperius Curse had drowned it from her mind. Robin latched onto her, arms clamped tight around her neck as though he was afraid she'd be taken away. In a way, she already had been. Aberdeen registered Robin's presence now, but not his fear.

'Act normal.' Normal. All right, that should be doable. Information about her life, her situation, started to drift hazily forward to volunteer itself as needed. Barely hearing the door shut, barely aware the man who had taken control of her actions had left the vicinity. But she still knew she had to leave, the voice had told her to.

She stood, some of her old manner reasserting itself, but not entirely. Her neutral facial expression was a little too neutral, her posture almost assumed its usual slouch, but there was something ever so slightly off about it. Tiny, apparently insignificant little differences. No one one notice unless they were pointed out. No one would think to look for them. No one would suspect, because nothing like this would ever happen to an auror. Not Aberdeen. She'd never let her guard down.

Aberdeen Spencer could look after herself.

She walked to the door with her almost usual brisk stride, almost. The slight, lingering fluidity to her movement was barely detectable. Gently rocking an unsettled Robin a little in her arms and murmuring comforting words to sooth him, she calmly pushed open the door and left the room, Robin's storybook still on the floor behind her.



[End]