Proceding the events in [October 05] Sand the Floor.


Anyone who claimed the silent treatment was ineffective had obviously never been on the receiving end of it before.

The door to flat number five hundred seventeen opened. The scrap of the wooden bottom against the top of the doormat a loud intrusion against the stillness that had settled between the pair of Aurors that entered.  The fireplace crackled merrily in front of the couch and the wireless and the flames of various chandeliers and oil lamps licked lazily at the air. Normally that warm, honey colored glow cradling the rich reds, greens, and wooden tones of her apartment would have been a welcoming comfort. Tonight, they were a mocking and leering presence.

Boots clattered at the mouth of the hallway, still fresh with clots of dirt from their outside expedition. The door closed again with a soft, distinguishable ‘click’. Cloth rustled as Tamis Raynor shrugged out of her coat and draped it, as usual, along the back of a chair set purposely there in the foyer. Yet, still, words did not pass between Archer Radley and her. For a woman that spoke so little she was perturbed that it was beginning to bother her.

The temporary truce between them had preserved for the remainder of the lesson with Fauna. They were, after all, rational adults capable of mature control of their emotions. That had neither been the time nor the place to channel some of the ill-will and tension that had built up between them in the last twenty four hours. The bleeding on his part had been a sobering contributor in that truce. However trivial the injury had been, anger and frustration still bubbled inside of her; it had been an avoidable grievance. Tamis Raynor did not appreciate guilt or jeopardizing her partner. What if the situation had been more hostile?

The unspoken pact seemed to tacitly include the travel home. Once out of sight of the Hogwartians and both human again the charade of good will dropped and was replaced by a bare minimum recognition of the other’s presence. And apparently, the bare minimum did not need to include speech. It was the calm before the storm, Tamis knew. The quieter that calm, usually the worst the storm was.

Squeak was nowhere in sight and had yet to reveal herself and collect the coat from the chair. Yet, there were obvious signs the Elf was about. A teapot was simmering on the stove and, notable, so was the one that had become elected for Archer’s coffee. A pair of sandwiches sat on the small table in the kitchen designated as the dining table. And, now that she was not concentrating on the minute distinctions to the silence, she could hear music from the wireless softly floating through the air.  Safe choices, Squeak would not have known if they had ate and had made sure there was at least some nourishment available. Her Mistress almost felt bad that she did not have a semblance of an appetite at the moment.

The male brooding angst was, truly, becoming overwhelming.

Crossing the short distance to the living room, Tamis reached out and turned the dial on the wireless counterclockwise. The music ceased instantly. With most of their homecoming shuffling over with, the hush weighted heavily between them. And someone was going to have to break it. She knew she was going to have to be the one to do the breaking.

“We should talk about what happened.”

Archer took his job seriously, which meant that at no point was he to leave Tamis Raynor alone or take her into a situation that could be potentially life threatening, if they could avoid it.  Sneaking onto Hogwarts, he realized, was not going to violate the second stipulation of his duty, and he stood by her, but the things that happened that day – information he learned there and after, plus the broken nose wasn’t really helping anything. 

Though the nose thing did break up a lot of the anger that built up over the course, it did not fix things.  They managed to move beyond it, naturally, and finish what they had to do – it was professional, but as soon as they left the grounds and headed back into London, all lines of communication dropped.  He ceased speaking, and though it was typically attributed to women – the silent treatment – Archer couldn’t think of anything he wanted to even say in public. 

It wasn’t exactly an argument they could have in front of muggles either, considering, and walking through the streets, he even let her walk a few feet in front of him – so he watched her walking and the surrounding area, making sure no one was watching them, following them, or targeting Ray in any way.  It did not appear that they were given the misfortune of being followed by anyone, and once they got into the building, Archer was more than happy to take the lead.  He touched the doorknobs, led the way up the stairwell, and even opened the door for her.

If someone managed to get into the building, knew where she was, and hexed things, he wanted to be on the receiving end – even as merely a duty.  There was nothing to be alarmed or concerned about, and when they entered the flat, on a normal day, Archer would have been intensely happy.  A fire was already going (even though it was always a little warm in her flat – small people always got colder faster) and it looked like there was some food on the table as well as two things on the stove – one for tea, one for coffee.  It was like he had been there for ages, rather than a little under a week. 

When he took off his boots, even the sound of them thunking against the floor was familiar and expected, unlike in his own flat that made a quiet bump on the front carpet.  He could have gone on with the silence for a long time, he lived alone and did not feel bothered by the fact that they weren’t speaking.  Unfortunately, as he moved into the kitchen, to possibly eat his sandwich (it was clearly defined – since it was the larger of the two).  Then, he heard a noise. 

It was almost startling, and he stopped in his tracks and turned, Ray spoke.  She addressed him and wanted to talk about the problem.  Well, the previous evening he had tried, but she was too out of it to realize that he had made a major breakthrough at least with his own understanding of what was going on, and then what was thrown at him in the morning, Archer sighed.  He decided, at this moment, it was time to deflect and hope to high Heaven that she did not press on once he replied. 

“That Fauna girl – I wouldn’t mind seeing her application,” he mentioned as he leaned down into the ice box and got a bottle of water - the fizzy kind, no flavoring - at least Ray was stocking up on good drinks.  "She's got potential."

The trip back to the flat had been impersonal and professional; she had become just another component of Auror Radley’s sworn duty. It made her feel like protected goods rather than an actual individual. She supposed most individuals in protective custody felt that way; she just was not used to being on the receiving end of that capacity. Particularly not by a man that she was suppose to be dating. He had walked behind her rather than beside her when they were in open terrain and switched tactics and shouldered his way in front of her when they entered closed quarters. There was nothing gentlemanly about it, even when he held the door open for her. As the Head Auror, she could (and should) be very proud of him for a very thorough execution. As his girlfriend, it stung. A lot. And certainly was making his point.

Going into this arrangement, she had believed maintaining a work environment for a work assignment was not only the best course of action but the most tactful. Now that was what she had she was entirely discontented with it. And that only aggravated her more. She was not going to be so stereotypically… female.

Still standing next to the wireless with her arms crossed defensively before her, Tamis watched the shock flash across Archers face and he halted as effectively as if she had spelled his feet the floor. He turned and looked at her as if he had not expected her to speak first. She had not expected herself to speak first. Typically, the silent treatment was an art a woman mastered, after all. They really did have a bad habit if playing muggle ping-pong with gender roles.

At first, he still did not say anything, but sighed and continued into the kitchen. While classy, the apartment was practical for a single occupant, and therefore small. She could still hear and see him, only having to shift slightly to keep him within visibility. Opening her icebox, he extracted an unfamiliar plastic bottle that, when he opened it, hissed slightly. Squeak had obviously gone shopping again. And it appeared, as a House Elf was amp to, she was already beginning to cater to the needs of both residents – despite what personal feelings the elf might feel for the man. She did not bring this up, however, not needing to sidetrack the conversation.

Archer was already doing a good enough job of avoiding it for the both of them.

While she fully agreed with his statement that had not been what she meant. And he knew it. It was not… easy… for her to ‘talk’ especially about emotions. It was necessary. Tulojow had been right about that. If they had another explosion like that while in the field – it would be disastrous and dangerous. As the Head Auror, Tamis had mediated disturbances between partners often enough – had to make sure they could get through it or she reassigned them. She had never had to play mediator and participant at the same time. The romantic complications were not helping.

“Yes,” She replied calmly, moving into the boundary between the kitchen and the living room but not crossing it, using that expanse of tile as a physical and mental distance between them. “She has more raw talent than she realizes producing that shield. I was referring more to about why she had to use the shield, Radley,” she even threw in his last name, for further emphasis.

For a woman that spoke as rarely as possible, she was rather efficient at dueling with words.

With his carbonated water in hand, Archer took a seat at the table, trying to attain some level of normalcy in all of his activities.  It was, of course, not normal at all as he was trying to dodge talking about anything of substance and Ray was the one who was trying to engage him in a conversation about their relationship.  Their relationship was nothing if it wasn’t unconventional, and usually it was his role to try and get her to confront whatever baggage she was carrying around and get over it, but today it was him with the tote bag worth of issues and she was trying to wrestle it out of his grip. 

Naturally, Archer was not going to give up so easily, especially when he felt like he had been slightly taken advantage of in the particular situation – and completely disregarded her efforts as part of the “too little, too late” category.  He did not intend to keep her stonewalled forever though, just hang her out to dry a little bit.  He felt like he was doing that very well at the moment.  She had to stretch for things to say and the conversation about Eyes was fine, neutral, and comfortable for both of them to tackle. 

Of course, the closer she got, the closer the topic got to what she was really going after – feelings.  Archer sighed as he took another sip from the bottle before running his free hand through his hair – which was notably longer than it had been in the past few weeks, just decreased time to take care of himself, and then to the back of his neck.  His head was still not quite in the right place, and the numbing junk that Tulojow had slathered over his face was starting to wear off.  Granted his nose didn’t hurt anymore, but the surrounding area was still tender. 

And then she used his name of all things.  He felt something like a chastised child, or better yet, student – she would know all about that analogy, no doubt.  For all the decorum and rules she followed now, he could distinctly remember the several years of Hogwarts they shared together where she was an absolute terror.  He probably would have rather run into Peeves on a bad day than had to deal with her sometimes.  He heard her name, Raynor, screamed in the hallway more than once.  Of course, it was where he originated the masculine nickname Ray, as an homage to her ability to act like one of the guys and defend a pitch like he had never seen a girl do (of course he would never say that to her – now or then). 

“I was illustrating a point,” he responded, managing to once again draw the attention back to work, “you turned your back to your opponent.  Just because you took my wand doesn’t mean I couldn’t do anything.  Wand magic isn’t the only thing you should illustrate with her.  Her natural reaction was a good one – shows good instincts,” he picked up one half of the sandwich and took a bite, chewing slowly as he regarded her with his seemingly dull brown eyes.  Once he finished chewing and swallowed, he continued, “You should thank me for it.”

The little things should not have bothered her so much. The way he nonchalantly settled at the small round table, somehow making the motion appear easy and comfortable despite the awkward fit for his long legs. The way he picked up one half of the larger sandwich as if it were the primary concern in the room. The way that he took his time chewing and swallowing, committing more meticulous time to both than he normally would, before answering. The disinterest in his eyes. Oh, he was illustrating a point all right.

“No,” she replied curtly, “that is the justification you are using for your actions.” It felt like she was in an interrogation room, dissecting a suspect’s words and throwing them back at them in an attempt to spark the truth. She was not going to let him hide behind that flimsy excuse while criticizing her skills not only as a duelist and Auror, but in her ability to instruct a seventeen year old girl. They had tense moments before but she normally knew what she had done to provoke those moments.

He had the gall to take it a step further. Thank him? Thank him. That was truly brazen. “Yes. Perhaps I should,” she sniped. “You tactfully undermined my authority and nearly compromised it in front of that student at every available opportunity. I truly appreciated it.” She very rarely was that obvious with her sarcasm.

Emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface were bubbling with frustration. He was stealing her MO. She was the one that was supposed to use her job as a passive barrier against topics that had the semblance of becoming meaningful. She was the one that was suppose to sit there indifferently twisting answers in a way that would make even the most devious of politicians green with envy. She could not remember much from last night. It was snips and pieces at the best. But she did remember the concern of her opening up to him more. Now she was trying. What did he want from her?

She was not oblivious to the fact that his head was still bothering him as he ran a hand through his hair and down to the nap of the neck she had massaged earlier. She did not want to push him too much – Nagde would never let her hear the end of that inconsideration. Yet, the longer they sat on the issue, the longer it was going to fester.  He pushed her and he tested her limits, destroyed all of the secure walls she had comfortably erected around her for years … and then did this.

And he was still making his way through that bloody sandwich.

“You really are being an arse,” she stated the obvious as she approached the table and snatched up the dish that assumedly had been meant for –and the other half of his he was not holding. “I hope your head feels better.” And with that she turned heel and stalked back into the living room, dumping the one and a half sandwiches, rather old and expensive looking plates and all, into the trash on her way out in pure spite.

When she did not know what to do with a personal confrontation, she fell back on the tried and true method; she ran away from it.

She was calling him out.  Now, this wasn’t something he wasn’t used to.  During the course of a normal day they often called one another out on investigative techniques, on the way they were handling themselves, just to keep themselves in check in the office and in the field, but in the home – the private affairs of both of them had never really been scrutinized.  They never even talked about it, for the most part.  So, though he was no stranger to being criticized, it was a little strange for him to be criticized so openly about how he handled his emotions and the way he performed. 

Not only did she call him out, but then she made it quite obvious what he had done, like she was some expert mind-reader about his motives and intentions during the lesson.  He set his jaw, considering she had absolutely no idea why he did anything and if those were the things he was actually attempting to accomplish during the lesson.  He wanted to know why she cared so much anyway.  It was a seventeen year old girl, not a trainee, and no one she was ever going to have to deal with on a professional level.  If she wasn’t so concerned with looking so God damned serious and right all the time maybe it would be easier for her to accept that she couldn’t always be the superior. 

It was best not to answer her though, and he turned his eyes away.  When he wanted to, he could be just as cold and dispassionate as the next person, and Archer just continued to eat the sandwich, chewing quietly and avoiding any words.  It was a good thing the half was large enough to avoid being eaten in a couple of bites and he could use it as a block from talking to her.  It would help his head in the long run and he put down the last bite of that half to take another sip from the carbonated water. 

If only she would take his cue and eat, ignore the issue, and maybe pick it up later, when it wasn’t going to be completely detrimental to the state of his mind.  Unfortunately, she did not have this particular idea in mind, and in the middle of his drink, she took the plate out right from underneath him and snapped about his head, before unceremoniously dumping – not only his plate, but her own – into the trash and walking out like she was going to leave or something. 

Archer, at this point, was not going to take that kind of thing and put his drink down (more like slammed it – so much so that the carbonated water fizzed over the lip and got part of the table wet and sticky), and he stalked after her.  She had her back to him, and Archer, being the gentleman he was, wiped his mouth on his sleeve before he proceeded to speak, “Ray, that’s centaur-spit and you know it!” he scowled, not afraid to continue on – not at this point – his dinner was ruined, his head hurt, and she was being spiteful – it was fair game.   

“Your authority?”he balked at her, “Are you bloody serious?  Your authority?  In case you’ve forgotten, I have more experience in the field than you, and she’s not one of the new kids you have to shock into respecting you – she’s seventeen years old, a student of all things!” He sighed exasperatedly, doing something of a pace to the left, then a quick movement to the right – he had to collect his thoughts, and suddenly, they were there, clear, and completely obvious. 

“You’re so afraid to look like a human being that you get bitter and spiteful over one attempt to throw you off, to make you think about the rest of the lesson – to actually enrich an experience, and then, on top of that, you pretend to be your own protocol!  I can’t even begin to understand what rules you follow and which you don’t – so forgive me for, at any point, being just a spot confused with all of this,” he motioned to her general direction, his hands expressively moving about in his anger.  He groaned in frustration, “Get over yourself Ray, you are just as human as everyone else – and damned if I’m going to let you forget it ever again.”

As soon as she turned her back to him, she knew she had broken a barrier. Liquid gurgled and plastic crunched as the bottle of carbonated water crushed against the unforgiving hardwood table. The hair screeched against the tile, groaning in protest under his weight as he pushed forcefully away from the table. His footfalls reverberated heavily with every step, drawing him closer and closer with antagonistic intent. She held her ground until he was almost upon him and then turned around to face him.

A part of her was satisfied that she had finally roused a response, yet the other part of her grimly realized that, now that she had a reaction, she was stuck with it. No retreating, now. Tamis could admit that the man came equipped with an intimidation factor. Over a good taller and well built through the arms and shoulders, the menacing physical threat could have been overwhelming. It was different than the alarm of an advancing hazard such as Cináed Tawse would have provoked. Archer Radley was neither criminal nor dark wizard; she could not draw a wand against him and have it be okay. She would never need to. However volatile it became, however much frustration stacked between them, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would not intentionally harm her. Tamis Raynor could never fear him.

Archer barked, growled and hollered, pacing to release the adrenalin undeniably coursing through his veins. Tamis took it. She passively stood there with her jaw tight, her back square and gray eyes unwavering but unchallenging as he struggled to gain his bearings. She tolerated it as he needed her to tolerate it; he needed to work through his thoughts. She bore it, until,

“Do not give me that shite,” she warned. It was not fair, strangling her with that ‘experience’ nonsense. Tamis had suffered it enough when she first took office. MacDonell had not done her any favors when he devastated the unspoken hierarchy amongst the aurors and promoted her. The opposite against her had not been a trivial concern, especially when she made changes to how the Office operated. But Archer had not been one of them. He could not join the caravan, now, simply when it was convenient.

“I am your superior. Damn it, Archer.  That is insubordination.” Whatever it was or was not, they both knew that she was not going to report it. That was not her point, trying to rub protocol in his face. But she did have a point. She made to step away from him, but then changed her mind, pointing an accusing finger at him instead. “If you want to challenge me, then do it properly. Accept the responsibility for once instead of hiding from it.” MacDonell had not offered the Head Auror position to Radley, with the man’s theatrics he had made it quite clear that Raynor had been his choice. But that had not always been MacDonell’s choice to make. There had been other opportunities, other positions. It annoyed her. She saw Radley’s potential, yet he would not obtain it, he was too afraid of it.

Merlin, did that open the flood gate.

The words carried the impact that he reaching over and slapping her across the face would have.  There was the initial shock following the blow as her mind tried to recover and comprehend what had just happened. Almost immediately after the registration a dense numbness settled over her clouding her senses and clogging her brain. Then, incredibly delayed, the pain arrived. It was not the sharp searing agony that would have accompanied a physical blow but a deep residual resentment as he slashed open scabbed over emotional wounds. There was a little voice whispering in her ear. It told her that he still had a headache, maybe a very mild concussion, and it was not advisable to get him worked up. But it was lost in the roar of frustration. It was frustration that he would dare to say that, to dare to levy those accusations. It was frustration over the fact that he was right.

“I am an overbearing control freak,” she snipped back. “You already knew that. What is really bothering you, Archer?” She did not yell that last sentence, but her voice definitely rose.

Archer wished he had the emotional clarity to ignore her comments and take everything she said and did with the grain of salt that it would have taken to get over it quickly.  He knew she struggled, particularly in the beginning, with her position – with balancing her job with her responsibilities, and Archer had been one of the few men (and women) in the department who gave her a break.  He didn’t call her qualifications into question and he certainly didn’t make her job harder for her.  He was her partner – if her job was harder, so was his, and that was counterproductive.
 
But there were times, certainly, when Archer felt like she needed to be reminded that just because she had the title didn’t mean she knew everything or could do everything and for her to throw that at him like he had no right to say it, he could feel the tension mounting in the back of his neck and the anger coursing through his veins.  “You might be my superior in one sense, Tamis,” that was when he was really mad – to use her given name rather than his, once masculine nickname, and now affectionate, “but you’re also my partner and my girlfriend – and I’ll be damned if you try to pull the rank card on me.” 

Especially when the offer for that had not been levied to him.  For as much as Archer was a good auror, he was not an administrator and it had been clear that no one but Tamis had been thought of for the head of the department.  It did not bother Archer, and he did not want it – he turned down accolades all of the time – he theoretically could have been a senior auror and had been offered badges and awards, all the things that people thought were necessary to show competence and success in the field.  He wasn’t going to become a poster boy for the department, there were enough of them out there that would have liked that – Archer did his job because he loved it, not because he wanted to be recognized for it. 

And for her to even dare throw that sort of thing in his face – like she had earned it more than he had or anything like it, he visibly bristled.  As much as he would have loved to, if she were anyone else, hexed her into next week, it was smart that his wand remained in the pocket of his coat that was draped over the chair by the door or he might have even been tempted.  Well, that was a lie; he would never be tempted to do anything to her that was potentially dangerous in any way.  The defensive charge would have been akin to a slap on the arse, which, most of the time, was a compliment from the auror. 

Now, of course, he might have actually thought about doing something else.  And add to that her question - what was really bothering him – well, Archer took a deep breath.  “What really bothers me?” he turned toward her, stopped pacing and, for the first time, had absolutely no idea what to do with his hands, “What is really bothering me?”  A caustic laugh poured from his lips and Archer crossed his arms over his chest – a defensive and protective show of anger.  “Maybe all of the shite you pull about the rules – insubordination my arse, you don’t even follow the damn rules.” 

“Illegal entry to Hogwarts grounds, subversive lessons with a student?  Tamis, you are risking your job! There are clear rules about that type of activity.  You are willing, four times – four times to risk losing everything that you’ve worked for to teach some seventh year, who has a capable DADA professor some tricks.  You would throw that all away for some kid with big eyes who helped your friend, but you can’t even budge an inch when it comes to me.  I’ve saved your arse more times than I can count over the past thirteen years and you find every reason to make up rules to avoid me – but you can break every single one in the books for some… kid!”

For a long moment, Tamis could only stare at Archer. It was as if she were seeing him for the first time again, or perhaps, as if her perception of him had just been turned on its head. All of the anger was temporarily stunned out of her as she just stared, mouth slightly parted with her complete and undivided attention. He had said her name. She could count on one hand the number of times that had happened before and with two instances of it in a few seconds time, that was a rather short list. Finally, she blinked, the incredulity did not fade, but took on a new connotation.

“You think I care for a child more than I care about you.” 

There was nothing but disbelief, pure and utter disbelief.  Wheeling away from him, her fingers streamed through her hair and took hold there.  She took a handful of steps beyond the couch, trying to put some more distance between them; it had closed significantly when he ceased pacing. When she turned back to face him, she was not as calm as she would have hoped to be. Her usual stoic composure shattered and the turmoil raging beneath the surface leaked out, such a complex mixture of emotions that it was difficult to choose a dominate one.

“You idiot,” it was very near a whisper. 

There was little more that she could do than shake her head in barely contained fury. Stupid, stupid, man. It hurt that she had to explain and that had not been able to understand; to infer. Flashes of memory came to her. A rebellious, unruly teenager that saw life as a game, only interested in the comfortable parts of life and completely willing to be oblivious to the real dangers in the world. A teenager that had grown into a young woman that had chastised her fiancé for choosing an Auror career path. A young woman that had become a reserved, uptight pessimist of a woman after having to face the consequences of her naivety and mourning a fiancé. 

When she read the girl’s file, when she had investigated her progress at Hogwarts, she had found similarities. The problems with Defense Against the Dark Arts. The naivety she had witnessed firsthand. Though, granted, Fauna Blake at least had more respect for school rules than Tamis Raynor had ever even considered having.

“What use is the job if we do not actually save people?” She asked him, gray eyes bearing into his darker ones, not yet relinquishing the hold on her hair. “If I can protect even just one innocent through prevention, if I can keep just one little girl from becoming a victim, then it is worth the risk.”

That did not suffice as an explanation. A part of her still wanted to stubbornly rebel, the same part of her that regretted forcing this issue all together now that she understood the root of all of it. She had barely been able to admit that much about her reasons for risking her career to herself let alone another. But she just could not get that frightened seventh year’s face out of her head. She would not have been able to bear it if something happened to Fauna Blake that changed her. The way she was worried Akiva Katz’ kidnapping might have changed her. The way her past had changed Tamis Raynor.

“I am afraid,” she finally admitted in defeat and through gritted teeth. “It hurt, Archer. It hurt so much to love someone and then lose them.  To even chance that kind of pain again, I would not be able to take it.” She had become so consumed with protecting herself for so long that she instinctively pushed away anyone that held any meaningful purpose in her life.  Whenever it looked like Archer and she were making progress, she got metaphorical cold feet and subconsciously set out to sabotage it.

There was a silence after those words, one where she felt very vulnerable and bare to a very large and angry man. It made her panic. It made her frustrated. It made her glad that it would hurt too much for her to actually rip the hair out of her head.

She clearly did not understand what he was saying, though he made no note of it.  He did not think she cared more about the child than him, he thought that she was more willing to risk her career for her and more comfortable with the idea of helping her with some training while breaking every rule in the book than letting him actually be a real part of her life.  They got close to making major breakthroughs and then she retreated to the place behind all the damn walls she built up.  He wasn’t exactly the most open person either, but at least he tried.

The effort she put in, at times, seemed minimal at best and the most he got her to talk was when she was hopped up on some funky tea, and it appeared she couldn’t even remember anything about it.  He did not remind her, it would probably only serve to further agitate both of them.  And with what she was spewing at him – the self-righteous explanation for her interest in helping Eyes, well – his posture changed only slightly.  A twinge of conflict entered his mind and he shook his head. 

She was taking all of this too personally.  He immediately connected the dots (he wasn’t stupid, after all), and sighed.  She saw Eyes like she saw herself, completely unaware of the bad things in the world and a victim just waiting to happen.  He started to rub the bridge of his nose, but the soreness prevented him from taking comfort in the action he typically used to block out sound and vision and concentrate.  He chose to tug his hair a little with a frustrated sigh.  She was deflecting her own issues on someone else. 

“Not everyone is going to become a victim in their life, Ray,” he countered – challenging her to accept the fact that tragedy did not accompany every life and that, perhaps this girl would never even know the impact of losing a loved one like Ray did, or experiencing half the horrors they all did on a daily basis (of course, he wouldn’t have minded seeing her on the corps – but that exposure to situations that were terrifying was far different than being a victim – it was being in control, and right now, he highly doubted Ray was in control of much, perhaps why she was acting like such a dragon in heat. 

He terse words and stiff muscles, angry and defeated, but fighting until the end.  She reminded him of a pit bull in many respects.  Intimidating to look at, though more bark than bite, unless of course, provoked, and then she would fight to the end – tenacity beyond anything he had ever seen.  It was interesting that her animagus form was a retriever rather than some scrappy, strong kind of terrier or bulldog. 

Her fear wasn’t an excuse, however, and didn’t serve to satiate his anger on the subject.  She avoided feeling anything because of the possibility of getting hurt, and he admitted, in the past few years, he did the same thing.  He distanced himself from his parents, his brothers, and existed almost as an island.  Though now, with both of his brothers oddly back into his life, and with a new girlfriend whom he actually cared about in a capacity beyond which bed he was going to be sleeping in at night – how could she act like it was the end of the world to be hurt? 

“You know what, Ray,” he started, “You can’t avoid it forever.  You might think you’re perfectly fine – being alone and blocking yourself off, but it means you’re a coward,” he paused, realizing the weight of his words and then shook off the regret he had for saying it – maybe make her so angry she’d burst.  At least then she might show a shred of emotion more than a tight jaw and flaring nostrils.  “Yeh, that’s right, coward.  Too afraid to open yourself up to anyone beyond a professional capacity.  I feel sorry for you sometimes - hell, I feel sorry for myself.  I try a hell of a lot harder than I would for any other woman with you and more often than not, every step forward is met with three back.  Put your big girl pants on and stop analyzing!  Live in the damn moment rather than planning the next funeral." 

It was almost as if he could sense the vulnerability in her, lurking just beneath the surface and he was shamelessly cultivating it, watering and pruning it until it broke through the cusp. And he was doing a damn good job of it. Tamis had just shared more with him than with anyone else in a very long time, yet his expression barely deviated; it was not good enough. She might as well have hold Archer that the sky was blue for all the responsiveness it gained her. No, not everyone was going to become a victim, but that did not mean that they could be and that one girl had been gifted with stronger odds than the others. Fauna Blake had ‘I attract trouble’ written square between those bright blue eyes in a circular target.

When she thought the worst was over, Archer took it to a whole new level.

“You do not have the right.”

Foolish woman, advancing on a much larger man was not a very good idea. But she did it anyway.

She could not say she had actually been happy over the last decade; it had been a very long time since Tamis Raynor could remember feeling happy, but she had been content. She did not have a life outside of her job, but she was good at it, and she had been okay with that. A workaholic, but a successful workaholic, that was at least making some sort of difference in the world. It had functioned for her for fourteen years. One month, she had given Archer Radley one month, and he was rooting her world up from the foundation, concrete block by concrete block. He made her question the way she lived and slowly took away her excuses and defenses one-by-one.

She did not have any left.

“You do not have the right,” she repeated, voice clearly wavering.

 Being alone was not so bad. She had been alone for most of her life in one way or another. People came and went but she always had herself – and Squeak, the ever present nuisance of a house elf was the closest thing she had to a family. And one that clearly, was not getting involved with that was happening in the living room. It had never bothered her. Not until now.  It was not just anger rising through her, it was panic. Control was slipping away from her, very rapidly. She was far too close to him. Tamis shifted to turn away, but he spoke again, and his words rooted her in place.

Coward. Her eyes snapped up to his. They were no longer hard and determined but liquid and wavering and waiting for him to take it back. He did not; he repeated it. Coward. The woman knew courage was not her strongest attribute. That was Gryffindor territory. But that did not make it any easier to hear. The words cut deep, not only for their cruelty but the right of truth that resonated in them.  She was shaking, mouth working, but the self-protective words would not come. And then, he took it one step further. He admitted to pitying her and in turn himself. That did it. She did not want his pity and she certainly did not want him to feel pity on account of her.

“You bastard,” she could not make herself mean those words. But the emotions were there so clear and clairvoyant that she needed to let them out somewhere. She contemplated giving him a good hard kick where she knew it was going to hurt but could not bring herself to do it. The small rational part of her brain that she was still listening informed her that his head was off limits. He had already battered it enough and she did not need to give him an excuse to blame a concussion on her. It only left her with one option. She pounded a fist against his chest (which, given her physical capabilities was not actually all that hard) and when it made her feel better, she did it again with the other fist. “You bastard,” she repeated again as a sob, but she was no longer angry with him.

He had kept prying and stripping, tearing the walls around her away until he had left her without so much as a pinch of mortar. All that was left was a very upset Tamis Raynor and she was not sure what to do with her. A single hot tear ran down her cheek in frustration. She did know she was not going to do that, she had already done that once in front of him and was not keen on repeating. Hitting his chest seemed like a much more preferable option.

Archer’s intention was to push her.  He intended to make her look at herself and what she did on a daily basis and question the way she had been doing things for more than thirteen years.  He acknowledged it was not easy, and perhaps Claudia had done something of the same for him – made him question the kind of women he looked at and how much he really needed to devote to which parts of his life.  Now, he did not intend on doing the same thing to Ray that Claudia did to him, not in any way, but there were lessons to be learned from even the worst experiences in one’s life, and Archer wanted to move past all of this nonsense and make things actually work. 

He had to make her angry first, and he could see in her face that he had moved past angry.  She was completely petrified.  Her grey eyes were swimming in tears – he recognized only from one evening in her office, the day he had to go back to his flat and take an hour cold shower to recover from the shooting range, and also having to reconcile the fact that Ray did, on occasion have emotions.  He got used to the idea and when she buttoned up and pushed him away, it frustrated him beyond reason. 

She was opening up a bit though, and he could see, as she stepped toward him, that she was going to do something.  For a moment, he thought about stepping back – but he remembered she was not going to really hurt him.  He could not back down against her, after all, he was Archer Radley – he wasn’t Bailey or anyone else who let themselves be intimidated by her.  He knew her, he knew her better than anyone else, and when she pounded the first fist against his chest, pairing it with words he never thought he would hear, Archer blinked, slightly stunned. 

To be truthful, where her rather small fist struck stung just a tad.  It was not the type of blow that would knock the wind out of him, but it was enough to leave a resonating feeling –and then the second blow confirmed that it did, indeed, hurt just a bit.  He knew that it was the intent, and when she finished hitting him, he put his large hands around her wrists and held her steady, watching the solitary, frustrated tear trickle down her cheek. 

At that moment, he was utterly confused as to why he really felt like he needed to kiss her.  Perhaps it was that he felt bad for messing with her mind like that and wanted to make it better, or maybe it was that he just really thought that her showing any semblance of emotion was attractive.  It made her human, and it was the human Ray that he was really attracted to.  He decided to take that chance –if she pushed him away, so be it, and pulled her by her wrists against him. 

Taking a deep breath, he had to lean down (quite a bit) and caught her in a hard kiss, after a moment letting go of her left wrist to put that arm around her small waist, the other hand still holding tightly onto that wrist.  He hoped this worked, and with those heated moments of intense kissing, Archer pulled away just a tad, breathing heavily against her – he had not realized that when he kissed her, the pressure on his nose was a little overwhelming – didn’t matter, he told himself, and waited for any kind of response, bracing himself. 

The outside edges of her palms throbbed painfully where soft flesh had connected with compact muscle. She had forgotten that the bulk of his build was not due to adipose tissue when she had hit him and the reminder came a little late as she stood there, fists still clenched against his chest and breathing unevenly. The man had not moved or attempted to stop her but had taken every blow with as much dignity as a human punching bag could. It would have been easy enough for him to subdue her or fend off her primitive muggle assault. He had not. Now, energy spent, she stood there staring at her sore hands lacking the courage to look up at him.

 After a moment, a large hand settled securely over each of her wrists and kept her from drawing away from him as she had begun to. Anger exhausted, she was left with a deep and lingering awkwardness that she was not sure what to with. When he hindered her retreat her gaze flickered up to meet his questioningly. There was a battle etched across the plains of his face as he debated some internal conflict. The war raged on for several minutes before his jaw set in a stubborn way that was becoming very familiar. She was learning to realize what it meant.

Using his grip on her wrists as leverage, he vanquished the space between them and kissed her. At first she did not respond, rigid and tense against him and still combating her inner demons. When she did not actually pull away from him, his hand slipped from her left wrist and settled more intimately along her lower back. Slowly she relaxed and eased the tension in her freed hand, fingers splaying over the prominence of his collar bone and she did something she had done in a long time; she surrendered.  She put aside the need to be strong and independent and invincible and she surrendered to that kiss.

When he pulled back he did not say anything and the meaning in that silence hung heavily in the scant nanometers of space between them. It was her move. Lips still slightly parted, she rewet them, her teeth grazing the surface of bottom lip as her mind reeled. It was a make or break moment and she knew it. After several lifetimes, she laid her head under his chin (it was possible with the way he was bent over her) and melted against him.

Not the most sentimental person, Tamis did not hug or show affection in such obvious terms, even when she broke down in her office at the beginning of last month she had not allowed Archer Radley to do more than hold her hand.  Now, if had been possible she might have tried to mold herself into him, she clung to him so tightly. Her free hand slid down slightly, gripping the front of his shirt. A few more tears left wet trails down her cheeks.

She had to swallow a few times to get her throat to work, uttering the first words in several minutes.  “I am sorry,” and she meant it.

Archer did not know what to expect when he started down this path.  It could end very well or it could end very badly – there was no way to tell.  If the expectation that she would respond with her fists again was to be held, Archer was going to be in for some trouble.  He worried about that for a few moments, as she stood stiff and unmoving, unresponsive almost entirely.  Archer had found that it was usually the best way to end an argument – show of affection, make it known that it wasn’t going to be held against her, that they were in it together, really. 

Of course, after the first few tense seconds, Archer was glad, and surprised for the fact she wasn’t pushing or pulling or getting rid of him, in fact, she embraced the idea and once comfortable, rested her hand just below his neck.  A touch of electricity ran through him and Archer couldn’t help but tighten his grip and angle her head back further.  It gave him the advantage, of course, being taller, and also allowed him to be even more aggressive. 

It was not, of course, a malicious aggressiveness, just merely asserting that he meant nothing but what was best for her – them, really – and at the moment.  That was it.  The lingering afterward was enough to make Archer sweat with anticipation.  He could feel the tension mounting as he waited for her to do something – whether it was a slap or something else, he did not know, but the moments were pregnant with pause and hesitancy. 

When she practically fell forward, clutching the front of his shirt, Archer was momentarily stunned into complete still.  He did not know how to respond, he had really never done much more, when she was coherent, than hold her hand – he attributed any closeness of the evening before to a fluke.  Here, she was holding onto him, twisting her hand in his shirt, and Archer supported her with the arm already around his waist and when he let go of her other wrist; he cradled the back of her head in his hand. 

He could smell her shampoo, a scent that was now growing on him, and he sighed, taking in a deep breath.  He knew it probably took a lot out of her to apologize, and Archer let it sink in for a moment – give her a second to collect herself, especially because he could feel her tears seeping through his shirt.  She really had taken it quite hard.  Naturally, he could see why and pressed his lips against the top of his head. 

“Me too, Ray,” he added, still holding her, though, he realized he could not do so for much longer.  He gave her one more squeeze and reluctantly pulled away, a half smile on his face, “One second,” he then took on quite the look of determination and in one very swift, fluid motion, grabbed her up above her knees but below her bum, easily lifted her up and situated her comfortably at his waist (she was incredibly light), and smirked as they were face to face.  “Much better.”

She would not admit it but Archer Radley was one of the most significant individuals that she had. The petite woman did not have a family worth mentioning. She did not make the effort to keep friends or a social life and the ones that she did have she rarely saw. The job was who she was, she was not afraid to admit it. Radley was the single, consecutively longest relationship she had. He was this solid, large, brutish (arrogant and stubborn) rock that she could not budge – and she had tried very creatively in those first couple of years. Her attempts as time progressed had become more and more futile. And now, he had made it quite clear that they were no longer appreciated.

Ear to chest, Tamis listened to the cadence of Archer’s heart: the rhythmic beats slowed with her initial contact and after a moment resumed regularity. She had caught him off guard she realized when he did not immediately react. She had surprised herself. After a while she began to doubt that he would, but then the arm around her tightened and his other hand traded her wrist for her head, holding her to him. Her fingers laced tighter, almost painfully, into the fabric of his shirt.

It had been a very long time since she allowed anyone to hold her and she soaked in the experience while she could. His breath rustled her hair as she felt the soft contour of his lips press against the top of her head, offering his own shortened apology. She nodded into his chest, understanding. It was not fair to keep pushing him away, he had made his point clear – they had always worked together, they had been through their share of arguments and might not always agree, but they always had each other’s back in the office and the field. They were still partners they were just functioning in a different medium. One did not shut their partner out.

Finally, he separated from her and she quickly wiped any remaining liquid from her eyes before looking up at him and immediately frowning. He had that resolute look again and that small quirk at one side of his mouth did not bode well. Before she could fully understand the repercussions, he acted.

Tamis Raynor was quite comfortable with her low center of gravity. It had worked very proficiently for her for the greater part of thirty four years. That stability was not often disturbed. Duels that took her off her feet had become more and more rare and very few people dared touch her, let alone warrant that level of contact. Which was why, when one of Archer’s hands claimed the underside of each of her thighs, she was so surprised. It was amazing how far from the ground three feet of elevation could be when one was (seemingly) so precariously perched. Forgoing elegance, Tamis’ eyes widened and she threw her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, latching on as securely as possible. 

When she belatedly realized that she was not going anywhere, she loosened her grip sheepishly and leaned back keeping a hand on either side of his neck as collateral. There was a self-satisfied arrogance gleaming in those dark eyes of his, pairing nicely with the smirk. It was a unique vantage point being directly face-to-face with him, much different, and secretly more preferred, than standing on a stool had been. She could not help herself. With all the tension still draining from her and now finding herself in this rather compromising position – she laughed; a crystal clear sound filled with a child’s glee.

She tried to school her expression back into a scowl rather unsuccessfully. “You are becoming far too confident with your manhandling, Auror Radley.”

Taking the moment to study his face, her right hand trailed up his neck and caressed his jaw-line, a small frown forming on her lips. In all of the excitement, she had almost forgotten about his injury acquired earlier that afternoon. Perhaps, it was not a very good idea for him to be burdening himself with her extra weight, she surmised. Knowing Archer, the suggestion would not be well received. So instead she gently trailed her index finger along his cheek bone without directly touching his nose. “Does it still hurt?” she asked, “I am not as well equipped as Tulojow but I am sure I have something…”