Juliette had been near the point of quitting where Landis Morgan was concerned; her anger had turned to pain, and quickly back to anger, and that to a dull, ever-present ache that manifested itself in miniature battles: the winner was the one who annoyed the other most thoroughly. But then she had stopped trying so hard or so often. It had become to draining, too much effort to go out of her way to bump into a man who offered nothing but chilly cordiality and an impassive face. The words he’d spoken to her when they’d last been alone were the culmination of weeks of testy run-ins and subsequent avoidance. The words were worse than indifference. They were cruel, and Juliette had not slept well that night.

But she’d missed him, she’d worried after him, she’d wondered... she’d wondered so much about his words and his face and his secrets that it nearly made her sick just thinking about how much she... thought about him. She did not feel like Juliette, but she did, and she was; she pursued the things she wanted, and she wanted Landis. Still, it was not Juliette’s custom to mope  after a man, to devolve to some plaintive girl whose worth depended on what a cold, grumpy boy said. She was not a beggar! He did not want her, and she would not ask, would not demand he take her for just one night, make her his until dawn.

She’d vowed to stop, to cut the ties that held her fast to brief memories of his svelte, fair figure,  shadowy mind, and silver tongue. And stop it would, today, if it must. But first...

Juliette had written to Dolly, and whatever defeated thing she’d been that night after the power struggle in the dungeons, there was a new vigor in her her heart and head (and her fists, her wand, her throat.) The woman had had much to say, things which Juliette could not have guessed at, however many times she pondered Landis alone in the dark or from across the staff room.

She’d traded her nightgown and feeble robe for something that would make her look less delicate, more in the business of... business. Or breaking of contracts. And this time, it would not involve Landis lighting the metaphorical agreement on fire.

Juliette meant to do away with terms and talk truth.

Coming to the door of his chambers well past dark and the students’ curfew, when most of the school were sure to retired to their common rooms, she knocked with a clean, clear confidence that demanded an answer; he could not mistake it for anything but a determined visitor.

When the door opened, she stared for all of a heartbeat.

“This is ridiculous,” she announced, stepping across the threshold, forcing him back into the room, and kissing him, the door still open. She kissed him hard at first, and then softened, her hands possessive, grazing his cheek in the place where she’d cut it deliberately almost two months ago. The cut was gone, his cheek perfect as ever, and even with her eyes closed and her heart racing, Juliette felt at ease.

When the knock came, Landis did not suspect. He was not dressed for bed yet, having just come from closing the library - and while it was amusing to think of him abed in slacks and a dress shirt, a tie perfectly knotted at the hollow of his sleeping throat, at least by now he'd shed the blazer and was in the process of loosening his tie when his visitor beckoned. He draped the thing over an arm of his sofa and approached, the sheen of its sober silk catching a dull gleam from the fireplace. Even in June, it got chilly in the depths of the castle. He'd extinguish the fire before he went to bed which, given his habits, would probably not be until very, very late.

Landis opened the door. Instantly, his eyes narrowed.

If he'd had the chance, he probably would have agreed with Juliette. Then he would have followed with some pointed question as to her presence outside his door so late at night, and weren't they over this already? But there is something about a surprise snog attack by a beautiful woman that instantly shuts down any man's brain, as well as neatly severing any connection between the mind and the tongue, and Landis was not immune. When Juliette took his face in her hands and kissed him, every well-meaning mental process lurched to an abrupt and speechless halt.

It was... it felt... nice. He had missed her. The fact that it'd been over a month since he'd cut off their potentially lethal affair had no bearing on the freshness of it all; it felt like yesterday that he'd done it, and the lack of sting when she touched his cheek was entirely a surprise. Slithering out from her bombardment of confrontations hadn't stirred so much feeling in him as this - it'd become a wearisome chore, the repetitiveness of his actions dulling and deadening him easily into callousness. This was enough to shock him from his dispassion. They hadn't touched since April.

He had the desperate, lightning urge to clutch her to him, to kiss her back, to ravish. It'd been too long, and he was so hungry. Landis had many things troubling him and the siren song of past comfort in these arms was so sweet. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to smooth her hair back from her determined brow, to deepen their kiss, to forget himself for a little while. To slip his arms around her back and hold her. To... apologize, for his own previous actions.

He didn't. Wanting was the worst kind of weakness.

He broke the kiss, gently extracting himself from her tender clutch, and looked down at her. His expression hardened as he went - nothing out of the ordinary, not even particularly cruel, just unmoved, dispassionate, stony. Juliette must have seen it a hundred times. It seemed a small chance that Kronos could latch onto her, but the risk was still there. Landis planned to go deeper into the underbelly of the wizarding world, and that was no place to drag another person unless he could shrug off a loss so easily as he wished he could. She didn't understand, and he had no desire to explain it to her. But he did wish she'd stop doing things like this. It made it difficult for him to keep to his convictions.

"It is ridiculous," he said, finally able to voice his initial thoughts. "This has to stop, Juliette. Your persistence is not appreciated."

He hadn't closed the door yet, although his wand was in his hand (he'd taken to answering knocks with it, just in case, and when she'd kissed him his hold had tightened around that instead of her). There was no need when he meant to send her out it again. Although something in him balked at the idea that any staff member wandering down the hall to the castle might be able to see the two of them, their relationship as of a few months ago was hardly a secret anymore. If anything, any staff's thoughts when seeing the two of them might be to wonder why they were still at such a tumultuous stage where Landis might open the door to an armful of Juliette. Surely, this imaginary colleague might think - for Landis' mind tracked with some bitter longing the potential words, the opinion that he wished he had an outsider's position to take - that it was about time they stopped making such a fuss of things and moved on. Landis was willing to be quiet and lay low, having already disrupted the professional workplace with his personal affairs enough. If Juliette felt the same they'd have saved their colleagues some mighty uncomfortable mealtimes.

Juliette could feel him, could feel his pull to her. Even as pulled away. Even as he oh-so-Landis-ishly wore his face like a mask. It was there before she opened her eyes and dropped her arms. Every day a mask, pretty and polished as marble. She wanted to see his real face, the one that would betray the restrained desire in his lips, the one that still wanted her, existed for her.

For now her intuition would have to suffice.

“No,” she said. “No.” The necessity in his words was not overlooked, but Juliette was insistent, too. “It does not have to stop. You don’t want it to stop.”

She looked him over, half-longing, half-judgement. She crossed her arms, but not so tightly that she was closing herself off. Rather, it was the way one stood when one was at a crossroads, loitering, waiting, hanging around for directions. There was also a touch of unyieldingness to it, however gentle, however relaxed. Juliette was a professor; she could stand all day and wait for an answer. It was waiting for Landis that put her temper on edge, but she had it in check now.

“I want the truth,” she said, soft as he had pulled away from her kiss. She had heard it from Dolly, most it of it. But there were details only Landis could tell her, and it seemed most dangerous realm for him, this sort of sharing. Her tone suggested she had been enlightened to some part of the whole, a fraction, but a sizable one. “I want it from you."

Juliette unfolded her arms. "I know you were taken that night. I know you meant to return to me." He had told her as much about his intentions, had pacified her momentarily, made her believe him before offering words that severed. But Juliette had not known why when it happened... And now, now she needed to know, from Landis. But this were not the words she used, not yet. First, she needed the basics. "Tell me," she insisted. "Who is this Kronos man? Why did have to take you? Why not her husband, why not...?" She let her voice trail off before she could offer any other names; her disdain for Dazmond was obvious, even without speaking her name. No need to drag others down, to wonder about Dominik, or Dolly, sweet, frank Dolly who had helped her unpuzzle Landis.

Juliette gestured to the nearest seat. "I'm not leaving, so don't bother." She brushed past him, further into his rooms, cutting off the outrage or cool demand that she stop this now, that she make her exit- she was sure both would still come. Her fingers grazed a table edge where sat a simple, pleasing bottle. It smelled so much like Landis that she wanted to steal it, and then jump on him again. Instead she turned away from the tiny temptation, and looked back at the more pressing one.

Landis' eyebrows made the slow trek of delicate disbelief up his forehead. "I do want it to stop," he pointed out - very reasonably, he thought, given the circumstance - in the politest, most unobjectionable tone. "I have been trying to tell you that I want it to stop in every possible manner for a month now. I have, in fact, stopped it."

He had extremely legitimate reasons for ending this, and her continued questioning of said reasons was past tiresome by now. (Was it an excess of self-confidence that led her to doubt him, he wondered, or denial?) Landis was a very selfish man in some respects, but he was also very good at denying himself what he wanted. Selfishness and control - but the latter outweighed the former. Dolly would say this was an unselfish act. Juliette would probably say it was a stupid one, but then she was terribly biased and constantly undermining his every effort, so he wasn't about to ask her anyhow.

Her next words set a sneer on his face. So predictable, so trite. I want the truth. And she wanted it from him, which was a fairly frustrating exercise. Part of the fun of coldly chucking an old lover was the expectation to be a complete bastard; given the hell she'd raised in retaliation, it was his only fun. He could happily run her around in circles again. It was only that she'd been so persistent and he'd had to do it so many times that by now this charade seemed unnecessarily sadistic. Landis was naturally inclined to sadism, but not generally outside of the bedroom towards people of whom he was at all fond. When the glint in Juliette's eyes seemed to be not anger but tears, it made him urgently want to withdraw.

To be effective, he'd have to drive her at least that far again tonight. Perhaps he'd be in luck, and he wouldn't hear from her again - this had all the drive of a last-ditch effort, sparks and fire but no lasting fuel.

"I don't think so," he said, tone acidic with a matching lack of pretense.

"I know you were taken that night. I know you meant to return to me. [...] Who is this Kronos man?"

Landis' sneer froze, then was whisked off to rot quietly in the back of his mind with all his good intentions. Shite. Stony-faced instead, he regarded her with icy displeasure as she strode past him, preventing the possibility of his taking her by the waist or arm and escorting her out the still-open door. It was not too late. It was extremely tempting. She'd probably kick him somewhere painful in her attempts to break free but he was the one with the wand currently in hand, and a quick body-bind curse would solve all his problems - at least until breakfast the next day, when she announced to all and sundry that he'd been kidnapped by Schlagenweit's criminal benefactor. 

Finally he closed the door, but he did fume about it a bit.

"You're better off not knowing," he said, while inwardly making a quick job of putting the pieces together as to who'd told her. If she hadn't said his name, Landis could believe she was guessing. But this spoke of insider information, so his most likely choices were Dazmond, Cinaed, or Dolly. It would be too unbelievable that she'd stumble upon anyone else, someone who worked for Malvivicus personally and who'd known through that channel. Likewise, if she'd been approached by the man himself, Juliette would not have presented Landis with such a demand. Briggs and Dominik would not have had the incentive to tell her, if they even knew. So three options - the one he'd been kidnapped with who would barely speak of it even to him, a man currently on the run and near-impossible to find, or the woman with whom Juliette was already friends, who had a history of doing exactly the well-meaning, personally invasive things that sent Landis over the edge into murderous rage.

When put like that, it could only have been Dolly. She'd probably thought she was doing him a favor. She probably thought she was ensuring him happiness that he was too stubborn to accept himself, that he couldn't possibly want caution over that, after he'd told her not to bloody undermine him - damn her, she would be the death of him yet. Possibly Juliette's death too after this little trick. Landis' expression, although blank and foreboding as the dungeon's stone walls, nevertheless implied that someone was going to be receiving a lovely Howler sometime soon, preferably sealed with a ink-bound kiss of death.

"You might as well leave. I have no desire to tell you what took place."

Landis’ mask began to crack, to become sour and suspicious or some such thing. At least she’d got that much. “You only stopped it because you’re stubborn and thought you had to, and because think it’s easier than just telling me the truth.” At this point, they were likely to be standing here all night, Juliette flinging the t-word at him as if it were an Unforgivable Curse, Landis steadfastly telling her to leave with increasingly less patient tones of voice and subtly whitened knuckles heeling that handsome ivy wand she’d once held in her own hands, stroked for the thrill, the tremor of less complicated passion.

That was months ago, and might have been another age.

The sneer was new, too, and for the briefest moment she was torn between voicing the realization of how terribly good an actor he really was-- and had he considered theater?-- and wondering if she shouldn’t just go, let him be miserable, find someone who wasn’t desirous to hex her when she asked how he’d spent his weekend. (Though, to be fair, it hadn’t quite gone that way, and Juliette would have been bored to tears rather than thoroughly reduced to them). That wasn’t what she wanted. Didn’t that matter?

And what Landis wanted...

Her instincts said one thing, his face another. He trusted her little to none; why not extend him the same courtesy? Couldn’t one still want what one could not trust?

"I don't think so[.]"

But the name seemed to change this game (which wasn’t a game at all). Landis closed the door, and Juliette felt the tiniest bit of triumph... and terror. Her heart swam in her chest, but she willed back to place, as Landis might will his trousers to retain their streamlined aura throughout the day and night. (She really wanted to decapitate Darian. His tailoring had officially transcended to the point of being appropriate for emotionally disturbing similes.)

"You're better off not knowing."

There was something in his voice that made her feel guilty, even if there wasn’t much in his voice at all besides infuriating practicality and a sizable degree of bitterness that was nevertheless more subtle than it might have been. Juliette frowned, searching him all over for a moment-- searching his eyes, really.

"You might as well leave. I have no desire to tell you what took place."

“Landis,” she began again, perhaps a little softer. She stood her ground, though, and there was enough boldness mixed with the calmness to let him know that she wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t going to move. Her temper was quicker than his, more liable to fly at him, where Landis’ was rooted and walled, a fortress, but a murderous one. But she wasn’t malleable. She wasn’t going to give in or give up. He’d pushed her away, again and again, and for a while she’d been tired, she’d waned; but she knew now that things hadn’t been as they’d appeared. She had answers, and more questions. He could do his damage, and she would have to weather it. “I know that you think you’re protecting me, but you’re only isolating yourself. You can’t decide what’s best for everyone around you. You don’t get to decide that. You can’t be with me... like you were... and then just tell me I’m a colleague, that I need to my mind my own business. I’m not leaving until I know why it’s worth giving up...” She stopped, lips parted, staring at him. She wouldn’t be here if she’d stuck to their little agreement, if she thought he had. But there were things, even now, that she wasn’t sure she could speak. What was worth giving up them?

"I am not deciding what it best for everyone, but what is best for those with whom I associate." Landis' tone was no less steely, but it softened to match her own. If she meant to appeal to his emotions, then he could do the same to her - of the two of them, he knew which was more easily affected. "If you are close enough to me to be in danger, then you are mine to protect." Out of duty or desire, in whatever way he'd chosen to do so, and Landis had chosen this one. He wished she'd understand, but the only way to comprehension was through truth, and he wasn't willing to give her that. For her to agree, he might have no choice - but in telling her anything about Malvivicus, surely he was only putting her in danger again. It was the catch-22 that made Landis hesitate before speaking again. "Isolation is not a chore," he reminded her, so that she wouldn't do anything so tiresome as pity him, nor think he was being noble.

She wanted reasons, something concrete. Although Landis had them, and one particularly dire one, he did not like to use it. It was one thing to think at a distance of common criminal methods, and another to remember Dazmond's pale, pinched face. Replace it with Juliette's, yes, it could be easily imagined, and the sharp spike of fear in his stomach gave another unaccustomed, unwelcome twist. Both were skilled with potions and therefore valuable to a man like Malvivicus. Both could be used to control him, as had already been done with Dazmond. They both possessed a fragility either would have spat at him to point out - strong in spirit, but too delicate for comfort - finely featured, with slender waists and thin bones. He could have encircled either of their wrists with the index finger and thumb of one hand. For reasons he could not explain, this instilled in him a deep possessiveness, a fierce backlash, at the thought of Kronos touching them. So no, Landis wasn't about to deliver another potioneer into the mad man's hands. If Juliette couldn't see the potential connections - how the three of them might neatly tie each other up without Malvivicus having to do any more than issue vague threats - she was less intelligent than he'd pegged her for. If she didn't see how unlikely it was that Malvivicus would stop with vague threats, well, then that was more forgivable, since she had not been there and she did know what he'd done to Dazmond. Landis, for all that he wanted her to understand, would prefer she do so without him having to actually say it. It would be effective and would have her on her way soon enough, but it felt a little like a betrayal. He chose his words with care.

"Kronos Malvivicus," he explained patiently, all traces of his earlier annoyance apparently on hold so that he could better convey his point, "is not adverse to coercing cooperation in any manner he deems effective. I believe only our discretion kept him from taking an interest in you already. I know that you find this an unsatisfactory end to our time together and I regret to have misled you so painfully, but such noise has been made in the aftermath that he undoubtedly is as aware of our previous connection as the rest of the school. Anything other than "giving it up" would be unwise."

"I am not deciding what it best for everyone, but what is best for those with whom I associate."

“But that’s not your choice to make,” she challenged, fitting in her protest before he carried on. His voice was softer, mellowing like Juliette’s own. And even if she found something to argue with at every corner, she was more sure now that they could have this conversation-- that he wasn’t just going to chuck her own. So she resisted the urge to fold her arms, instead straightened, tried to stand taller, all swan neck and well-behaved hair tossed behind her. Her wand at her side, she remembered the bottle on the table she was no longer facing, wondered if he knew or cared that his scent was always the first thing that made her recall sweeter moments-- when they were here, and then there, and then pressed into his chair or bed or wardrobe, no need for quarreling, no need for language. His scent was the first thing she’d known of him, too, there in the Great Hall, before she looked up to see the cheekbones and hair and cold eyes which fit it so well. And the warmth underneath the mint... and the warmth in his eyes when he’d been drinking...

She had thought, before deciding to come, that maybe she could persuade him to go back to that, at least. Maybe he would give her that. But no. It would draw attention, he would say. And she was too involved; touching him, feeling his heat on hers, leaving him before he woke or lingering just long enough to clink her coffee cup against his tea, they were fine, but they were not all she wanted. There was no going back. She couldn’t compartmentalize Landis so easily as a shelf of the storeroom. She couldn’t compartmentalize him like he seemed to be able to do with her. And she was reminded of when she could, and how much easier it was. If he were another man--but he wasn’t.

“I’m an adult. Let me know the risk if you’re going to insist on this.” Whatever it was that their breakup had been, whatever had caused the resulting anger, the resulting anguish. And Juliette was not guiltless. She had been angry, she had demanded answers that perhaps she had no right to seek. But she was doing it again now, and what she knew made it all the more imperative, made her more resolute. She was willing to shoulder guilt if that’s what this was.

"If you are close enough to me to be in danger, then you are mine to protect."

Ah, but how she wished it were true. She didn’t particularly want to be protected-- she didn’t need it, she could protect herself. But she did want to be his. Enough that he trusted her, enough that he would give himself to her, too. That mightn’t have been Landis’ nature, but Juliette was so sure in her hours and hours of pondering, remembering, wondering whether to give up, of growing suspicious, learning bits and pieces-- guessing others-- whatever Darian might charmingly attempt to convince her, whatever Dolly might inadvertently reinforce, that Landis did, in fact, have a beating heart. And if he was protecting her, didn’t that prove as much? (Even if it was, Juliette felt, completely infuriating.) She had thus renewed her resolve, come here, demanded. Demanded without permission.

“I appreciate that. You are sweet to think I need to be protected, but if I have no idea what you’re trying to protect me from... how do I know I can’t help you? How do you know this man doesn’t already have what he wants by making you...” Paranoid? Cut himself off? Repel Juliette? She would hex his face off for the last one, if she ever met this fool whose mother had so winningly fastened him with the name of an evil overlord. Convenient. “At the end of the day, he’s just a man.” She informed him, chin raising a bit.

"Isolation is not a chore[.]"

She agreed with him. To an extent. Juliette could sit alone for hours, working methodically or manically, from sunrise to sunset, and through another day without bothering to take up the mediocrities of human communication such as they were. She did not need to take her meals in a hall full of children or exchange pleasantries with colleagues to feel whole. She enjoyed her time alone, lounging in a bed too big for one person, sitting in a cafe in Paris with no one to entertain her but a book and the strongest espresso one could hope to produce. But Juliette was not antisocial. She wasn’t elusive to the point of sociopathy, either. Luxuriating in one’s independence was not the same as forcibly isolating one’s self-- And more and more, particularly of late, she had wanted nothing more than his company in her bed, his face at the table across from hers. “Aren’t you miserable?” She asked pointedly, though she kept her voice soft enough. She missed him; having to pretend he was the world’s largest bastard-- because sometimes, he could be-- was tiresome after a fashion. And, yes, a chore.

"Kronos Malvivicus is not adverse to coercing cooperation in any manner he deems effective. [...] I know that you find this an unsatisfactory end to our time together and I regret to have misled you so painfully [...] Anything other than "giving it up" would be unwise."

He spoke as if he were writing a letter of termination, as if, through some removed diplomacy he could force her to go quietly, go willingly. It was exactly the sort of thing that infuriated her when they’d broken up, and exactly the sort of thing which, in happier moments, Juliette had come to find strangely endearing at times-- a sort of armor her ex-lover wore beneath his clothes.

She wasn’t afraid, not really. She couldn’t be. It was too abstract, this threat. She knew a name, and had a vendetta because the man behind the name had robbed her of Landis, had very possibly tried to hurt or even kill him, and had returned him in a state which obviously made him think twice about investing any further Juliette. She was afraid for Landis. Perhaps selfishly, perhaps nonsensically, perhaps very much in the same manner he was afraid for her. She moved toward him, a chilly realization in her spine. “Is that what he did to you?” She looked at him as if she might see the signs, as if she might even see a scar where she’d cut him.

She slowly moved a hand toward his, the one without the wand. With gentle fingers, she brushed the back of it, a cautious ceasefire, though they hadn’t been yelling. She looked pained for a moment, glancing down and back up, lashes appearing to close. When she looked at him again, she seemed to be searching again. “This isn’t about what’s wise.” That was, potentially, the biggest hurtle. She had to believe that he wanted what she wanted, or even Juliette would not be so persistent. “I want to be with you. I’m willing to take risks for that.”

“I’m an adult. Let me know the risk if you’re going to insist on this.”

Landis considered this, turning it over in his mind as if to see some fault. He frowned, faintly. It was a valid point, one with which he was forced to agree if he meant to enlighten her as to why, exactly, all of this was so unwise. He couldn't argue with that. So he gave the mental equivalent of a shrug and told her, brushing off any discomfort that came with revealing the risks he and Dazmond had already faced.

"None of these things may come to pass." Dazmond's husband had been left alone. "But if he took an interest in you, you might face - " A real shrug this time, as Landis organized them into a verbal list. "Threats, blackmail, bribery... extortion, torture." It was as impersonal a list as it could possibly be. But impersonality, dispassion, these wouldn't sway Juliette. He sweetened the deal with a more chilling example. "Dazmond and I were kept apart. He threatened me while his men tortured her elsewhere."

He still wasn't sure what they'd done to her. But the unhappiness, the trembling, the tired placidity at dinner, the flinching when touched - they were all symptoms that he could read. Landis hadn't particularly enjoyed his time with Malvivicus either, but he could at least speak of it without seeming like he was about to hyperventilate. That she couldn't, that she got agitated when pressed, upset, emotional - that she wouldn't tell him... he didn't know how it'd been inflicted - emotional, physical, mental - but he knew that it had happened. The fact that she'd never specifically confirmed what he knew made it easier to ignore the last faint flops of his conscience. Apparently the thing wasn't quite dead yet.

Landis raised an eyebrow, but did not refute her. It wasn't at all sweet, but that was such a womanly thing to say. "I know what he wants, and I am giving it to him," he said dryly. "The dissolution of my personal relationships is probably just a perk." Her insistent, "He's just a man." made him smile; Landis felt he might love her a little, just for that. "I'm counting on it," he said. A trace of fondness curled around his voice for the first time that evening, distracting from the foreboding implications of his actual words. "But for now, this is the way things are."

"Aren't you miserable?"

Landis blinked, a deliberately slow sweep of lashes. "Not particularly," he replied blandly, and almost smiled to think it wasn't what she'd expected to hear. Landis liked being on his own - each "friend" was only one more person to be beholden to. Kronos had given him another, which was annoying, but shedding the few acquaintances he had like a husk of old skin was not as unpleasant as Juliette wanted him to find it. He supposed her real point was probably not that isolating himself made him miserable, but that isolating himself from her was what should be unbearable. How tasteless of him not to have grasped it at once, and to have answered with such immediate dispassion. Even as he grasped this intricacy of womanly implication and opened his mouth to clarify, he had to pause again - to agree would only encourage her, but to lie would be unkind. Now that she knew this much, there was no reason to be pointlessly cruel. Closure, he could - and should - give her. 

"I wouldn't have ended it if not for this," he told her, a little stilted, a little awkward with the truth. "I would have liked not to have had to - " hurt you - "Break things off in such an insensitive manner. I'm sorry, Juliette."

But he was very sincere, and very contrite, and it was that openness which allowed the realization behind his eyes to be glimpsed, when he grasped exactly what she say was implying had been done to him. Normally he would not be so ruffled, but the chilly knowledge of Dazmond's fate was a terror unable to leave him. He knew that fear and had had it realized; he did not make Juliette suffer in her wait for an answer. "No," he said, with a suddenness, an urgency, laced under and through the word - it left his voice after he'd answered her, and his next words were calm again. "No, I was treated well enough, for a kidnapping. I was not a disobedient employee, like Dazmond; I was to be acquired, not punished." This would be the time to step closer, to touch her somehow. Instead he smiled at her, an unexpectedly conciliatory expression that was obviously meant to be reassuring.

But she moved towards him now, brushing his hand with hers. It made him remember that he was still holding his wand in his other hand and he tucked it away now, rather delayed, but it gave him something to busy himself with while Juliette looked pained. 

"That's... rather hard to believe," he said, skeptical and lightly scathing, as if through sarcasm he could convey the extent of her stupidity and thus make her reconsider. "Don't mistake me - I don't doubt your formidable will. But this risk vastly outweighs the benefits." She had no reason to be so loyal to him. Their time together had been pleasant, but it wasn't worth possibly attracting Malvivicus' attention. Juliette could not know his other ties to the criminal world, either. His silence would never be dropped, his trust would never be fully given, and if she'd gotten angry over a three-day disappearance, she would not be happy either with his mysterious trips this summer. Now he reminded her, gently, again, "This is not a very intelligent choice, Juliette. I wouldn't ask it of you."

So, he thought, with an uncharacteristic please, drop it. It was a mighty damning excuse, and it was the only one he had. Otherwise he was not sure how he could dissuade her. No, wait -

"Juliette, there is also the matter of what it is he wants from me. The services I provide for Malvivicus are not legal. Should I be discovered, I would be jailed or forced into hiding. This conversation would be used against you, and you would probably be accused of conspiracy."

Not strictly true - tutoring Schlagenweit with all sorts of nasty Dark spells would probably only get him fired - but the discovery of his WBA intentions most definitely would end in Azkaban. Landis was perfectly willing to blame that side of his illegal activities on Malvivicus, since Juliette couldn't possibly know any better. It made a wonderful excuse for future activity, too. A second after he'd thought it, Landis realized he was making assumptions about the future - their future - and almost scowled. This really was ridiculous.

She saw his mind churning, there in the silence. And then the words came, and as much as she could read him, in a way, she was also somewhat surprised he had conceded. Her lips parted, that little bit of disorientation, that flush of relief and momentary panic of one’s own potential overzealousness evident in her mouth. How long had this taken? How many times had she tried to corner him before now? Perhaps not many; perhaps not enough; certainly not like this. This was what it took, a flurry of Juliette purposing to become a stone statue as heavy and annoying as the more senile of Hogwarts’ animated decor, one who would stand there in Landis’ quarters with her arms crossed and her wand a flag, and her lips a little bit of corporal punishment, that burden of attraction. She would stand there and watch him watch her, watch him threaten, watch him undress, or not undress, and sleep, or not sleep, until he gave her something-- truth, or that part of him she knew was there, even more shadowed, perhaps, than truth. Here they were, and Landis was giving her what she wanted. And if they’d cooled to something civil, it was only now that Juliette’s invasion drew back, just a little, stilled on the sidelines, stirring adrift.

"None of these things may come to pass. But if he took an interest in you, you might face - Threats, blackmail, bribery... extortion, torture. [...]"

She slowly closed her mouth, regained that elegant control of her features, and blinked softly,  taking in his words-- for all her sudden calm, he might have been telling her that Kronos had suggested a fair weather picnic.

"Dazmond and I were kept apart. He threatened me while his men tortured her elsewhere."

But when he got to the bit about Dazmond, Juliette’s brow seemed to falter; she frowned, and her limbs tightened for want of her wand, or Landis, or some tangible assurance, some measure of present reality. Knowing him as she did, she knew there were few situations less hellish. For all the accusations she had flung at him, whispered like terrible hexes, she felt her heart drop-- for Landis and for Dazmond. It might have been easier, almost, to hear him say that it happened only to him, that it was that pain-- a very physical pain-- he wished to spare Juliette. She could counter that, she could promise brazenly that she was not afraid to be cursed. It was not a pleasant experience, but it was one that she would share with him, should it come to that. But she could not promise that she would not one day put him in the same situation again. It was another kind of anguish Landis had endured; he had been present and entirely powerless. “Landis, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “Is she alright?” And then, with a bit more force: “You know, you couldn’t have stopped it.”

 She was forced to recognize why he might want to end things (or keep them dead). But that didn’t mean she was going to be any less selfish. And she hoped he might forgive her for that.

"I know what he wants, and I am giving it to him [.] The dissolution of my personal relationships is probably just a perk."

Whatever it was, she did not press it this time. They were at a crossroads of some kind, met with a kiss and then a pair of too-cautious (or not cautious enough) wands, and now the calm civility of two adults with a decision to make. Surely Landis would insist there were no decisions. This was not a choice, and she should leave now before he removed her. He could try, couldn’t he?

"I'm counting on it."

The smile made her relax a little; and if she felt a bit cautious, a bit apprehensive, too, those feelings were not so strong as what the little bit of warmth he seemed to be offering stirred in her. Her intuition took precedence over the human arsenal of common sense; with Landis, who so painstakingly (and yet with frightful nonchalance) spouted common sense, things were often ironically head-spinning. But here they seemed to see each other clearly. Or Landis seemed to be endeared to her disbelief in any man’s invincibility.

"But for now, this is the way things are."

Juliette intended for now to end now. Her lips parted again, in protest. “They don’t have to be this way. You have a choice and so have I, Landis.” Choose me. She looked at him as if to suggest if dared argue he had made his choice without talking to her first, there would be hell to pay.

"Not particularly,"

She considered his immediate response-- the self-sufficiency so encompassing, so seamless, so comfortable as to be inherent-- but again said nothing. She swallowed it. In wanting Landis, in wanting to be with him, it was something she had to acknowledge, a part of him that would always be present, whether or not he shared her bed. Part of her was more attracted to him for it; another wondered if it was too dominant, if it was too much a part of his marrow, if it, combined with Darian’s theory, meant that these efforts were in vain, and Juliette should have moved on.

"I wouldn't have ended it if not for this. I would have liked not to have had to --Break things off in such an insensitive manner. I'm sorry, Juliette."

The truth, again. Juliette felt it in him, even if they weren’t touching. He was not some two-dimensional plebeian with a nature as readable as his face; even his face gave little to nothing again. Perhaps this was why she was so persistent with Landis, the things she could sense about him were more hidden, but they were also more poignant. “I’m... glad to hear that.” If they were being humble... Well, it was better she left it at that than proclaimed she knew it. And if it meant a lot to her to hear, she let that meaning sit.

"No. No, I was treated well enough, for a kidnapping. I was not a disobedient employee, like Dazmond; I was to be acquired, not punished."

His smile was another wash of pain, as if relief itself were too overwhelming. But the relief was there, dancing upon the what if’s. And with that man still out there, forcing Landis into submission, she wondered how long it would be. She breathed out, meeting his eyes, shaking her head, as if for the briefest moment she might cry.

"That's... rather hard to believe. Don't mistake me - I don't doubt your formidable will. But this risk vastly outweighs the benefits. This is not a very intelligent choice, Juliette. I wouldn't ask it of you."

And the sarcasm returned, that natural Landis-nish that was like wonderful pins. He was insulting her, more or less, and it was maddeningly right. It made her want him more. Her fingers pressed into hand where they had been grazing it, trapping him there, entwining themselves with his, with all the singular indignation of a woman. She pursed her lips and raised her brows. “So don’t ask.”

This time it would not be a contract.

"Juliette, there is also the matter of what it is he wants from me. The services I provide for Malvivicus are not legal. Should I be discovered, I would be jailed or forced into hiding. This conversation would be used against you, and you would probably be accused of conspiracy."

She stared, softly, her face affectionate at his well-intended, carefully-worded persuasion. She stepped closer still, close enough to breathe him. She moved her other hand toward the nape of his neck, beneath the fine blonde that hid it. She wondered what dark place he went to when dealing Kronos’ hand, and whether it was the same place where other parts of him were hidden; she wondered-- but did not longer on-- what activity might land him in jail. “I’m not worried about being implicated. I would like to see them charge me for demanding you stop being so pragmatic and take me to bed.”

The fingers still entwined with his tugged, gently coaxing his arm toward her figure. The hand about his neck smoothed down his collarbone, drawing softly, idly. “It’s worth it to me. The law can say when they will.” Now it was only one finger circling his collar, and Juliette’s eyes bright in their focus, her face lingering near the warmth of his aristocratic jaw, her eyes on his skin, on every bit of him she ached to have. She wanted to kiss his jaw, his neck, the heat of his back that she was the only person in the castle to know so well. She pulled back enough to look at him again.

"I'm aware of that," he said, words flinging themselves off his tongue with a sharpish snap. He didn't want to respond so hastily that he seemed defensive, but it was a stupid thing for anyone to say. He didn't answer her question, either, not least of all because what he felt was the truth and what Dazmond would insist were two very different things. He'd already said too much in her place; this was something she'd have wanted to keep private. Besides all that, that question was nearly as idiotic as the statement it was following.

He did feel a curl of satisfaction, viper-sharp, at the expression on Juliette's face. He remembered what she'd accused him of that morning, and he liked the moment when she realized it too. Landis didn't pretend to be a nice man, or a fair one; the white-hot sear of fury that she'd provoked got its vengeance now. He wouldn't mind twisting the knife even more except guilt-tripping made him feel pathetic.

“They don’t have to be this way. You have a choice and so have I, Landis.”

"I made my choice," he said. "Over a month ago." He crossed his arms against her fierce gaze.

Well... good. That'd went well. Landis, who was not accustomed to apologizing, found himself pleasantly surprised at the consequences of being sincere. If this was all it'd been, they'd have been done by now. Maybe he should have tried this angle - the "sorry for how I did it, but not sorry that I did" one - before. Maybe if he had she wouldn't have gone to Dolly, and they'd have been done after this. He could have walked away, oh yes, I'm very repentant, and she'd have been pleased and they might have managed to salvage their professional relationship and leave their personal one. . ...Probably not, but it was a lovely thought.

But even as his apology had softened her, now she drew herself up again, eyes flashing and imploring and commanding all at once. Merlin, what a formidable woman. Surely it was not sane to run after that which could only harm you. Surely the sex could not have been that great. He liked to flatter himself, but this was ridiculous.

"Fine." He gave her an equally maddening smile, close-lipped, an arrogant press. He wouldn't ask. "I'll tell you."

She drew closer, tugging one of his arms around her waist. It was habit to oblige, to slide the other one around her too. Her weight in his arms was familiar; it disarmed him in a way he wasn't entirely able to protest. It would be easy to reach for the comfort she offered to him, to tighten his grip, turn his lips to her hair... Landis sighed like the patron saint of regret. "Somehow I doubt that's all that you want," he said dryly. And, complaining as her finger slipped from the nape of his neck to the hollow of his throat, "You're tipping my hand."

It was a point of contention, what he couldn’t control. She she felt bad for Dazmond-- a little guilty for what she had assumed of the woman-- but she decided not to press further, not yet. Juliette was choosing her battles. She would let this one go for now. Landis needed his own time to heal, though it was sometimes remarkable (maddening) how very detached he was. And then some wounds could not be mended.

The choice he’d made might have been in her best interest from where he stood, but it was not one Juliette would accept. And she didn’t think he meant it, entirely. Choosing and wanting what one chose were not the same.

"I'll tell you."

Juliette felt an familiar inner thrill, a shiver of something that had been dormant for a maddening several weeks now. Any less determined woman-- certainly one who lacked a masochistic side, a desire for the shadowy, silvery, exquisite thing she was attempting to cage, lovingly, for both of them-- would recoil, slap him, spit back an insult. She had done all of things already, during their last great clash. And oh, what a show. The stubbornness of his words was almost sweet. It made her smile back again, a little, take private pleasure, in an oh, really? manner. “Go on,” she said honeylike, amused, daring him, inviting him, wanting him to try. He wouldn’t. Or maybe he would. Landis could argue semantics all night if he liked. She wasn’t going anywhere, and, she suspected, neither was he.

With his arms on her, the tangibility of it to prompt them there on the cliff side of his rooms, her purposefulness took on a serenity. Whispers were loud enough to be heard, and feeling his hands-- knowing they were feeling her, knowing that he was coming around now, his defenses offering a little, almost invisible way in-- justified it. He might have been in a paper house. She watched with lazy interest his skin while her finger delineated weak points.

The sigh was precisely what she wanted to hear.

But he was right, too, that it was not all she wanted. His perception was sharp, and even for someone who was not so emotional as Juliette, the potioneer could tell he knew this wasn’t entirely about bedding and wining and nursing the hangover with more of the same, and perhaps a hot shower between acts. She chose not to answer that bit. He could think what he would. (He could be right.)

She watched him carefully. “Do you mind, terribly, my tipping your hand?” Her fingers cupped beneath his jaw, severe as it was; she felt in control, as if she could force him to stare at her-- when she knew plainly he would do it just as proudly as she, and if he didn’t want to, he still wouldn’t flinch... or he would simply find a way not to. She smiled. “Because if you do, I’ll do it harder.”

She leaned up to kiss him again, her eyes barely shut, or barely open. “You taught me a thing or two about Wizard's poker.”

His eyes narrowed - hers too. But whereas she wore a smirk Landis almost didn't answer, recognizing that dare but not able to match it. It wouldn't matter what he said, she wouldn't go away. Her heavy eyes had anticipated this outcome.

He leaned in, his grip on her waist tightening. "Fuck off." Each word was a carefully-shaped rasp, hissed so softly past teeth and tongue. Distant as a winter coastline, but there was an intensity and an interest in his gaze that could be mistaken for heat. The way they watched each other was unfortunately familiar, his lips parting as she trailed fingers down his neck. She was so impertinent. Landis had always liked that. That she was capitalizing on this particular weakness was something he could recognize and admire, though he admired little else about tonight's intrusion.

“You taught me a thing or two about Wizard's poker.”

"About bluffing," he said, his warmth wicking away, annoyed with her for this action too. As if any of their cards had changed since they began this discussion. He wanted to tell her this tactic wouldn't work any better now than it had at the beginning but suspected he was wrong. "Yes."  It was her hands on his face, her mouth right there. She stretched up to kiss him and he did not soften, did not kiss her back, the slant of his eyebrows crumpling, his body tense. Landis had tried to wean every drop of thoughtless impulse from his life, emotion, wanting someone, it was weak and easily manipulated. He had already been manipulated. He hated it, he absolutely hated it, that he'd paced the gods-damned Turkish carpet while he waited for Dazmond, for Kronos, for anyone, blood boiling. He had Harper in him, hot and base. He did want things. And he couldn't stand it.

Landis was unaccustomed to the sour taste of fear. He had always expected to live his life alone.

Reviving this for a proper ending.

---

Juliette gave a hushed exhale. Her eyes didn’t leave his in the seconds after he had uttered the words. It was a sweet sting, the feeling of those words as they were replaced with silence and the already-committed memory of how they sounded. If his hands spoke differently, if their closeness meant she had him, the words were not an invitation. But there was something there: savagely appealing, daring her to carry on, promising the worst if she did and an enduring tedium if she did not. Her fingers clenched into the fine, strict material of his shirt, matching his hold and the roughness in his voice.

She had him, his coldness. But there was also a part of him no one would ever have, and which Landis would fight for, endlessly, to keep for his own, and which Juliette would never stop desiring. If it was missing altogether, if it was stone, she could not say, but she knew she wanted it.

“You don’t want me to,” Juliette murmured, meeting his acerbic demand with a balmy dissent. Her answer seemed to double as a simple no, whispered against his mouth. But the calm layers of her voice held the confidence and terrible promise of a Legilimens. She didn’t want an answer, wanted only to disobey his direction. Her eyes said what he could do with those words.

Her free hand had already cut short its leisurely meddling. Now, it wound up his shoulder, finally resting there with splayed, possessive fingers. Despite the hardness in Landis' face, the rigidity with which he was rooted to the stone floor, it was now Juliette's mission to uproot him, drag him off to an even quieter corner of his quarters, channel the scathing words and blustery stares into something still more palpable.

Her mouth met his again, no longer sweet-tempered. The hand on his shirt redoubled its hold. By the time she reached his jaw, she was pulling him along, looking for furniture unyielding or pliable. The material had certainly known gentler moments with Juliette, usually when she was wearing it. She did not mind, tonight, if it became a casualty.