A/N: Unfortunately, the theme of this piece is not exclusively mature. Nothing is explicit, or even confirmed one or another, but the implication is there. If the idea of assault is offensive to you, do not read this.
That said, if you do choose to read this, I hope it does the topic justice.
"That's it for today. As soon as the items we've discussed are taken care of, the day is yours."
The words were gracious, but the tone was not. In fact, unless he was sitting physically in the room, Will would've been hard-pressed to say it was actually Magnus saying it.
But when the others scrambled out of her office with their tails between their legs, there was no doubt about it.
Will watched Magnus stand, eyeing her closely as he examined her movements with keen eyes. There was a stiffness in her movements that stinted her usual grace, a slight hitch in her gait that spoke the truth she refused to voice.
It had been almost a month since they'd brought her home from the hellhole they'd found her in. The three weeks she'd been missing had been the most harrowing Will had ever had to weather since coming to work at the Sanctuary. Even Ashley's disappearance had been easier to handle, because Magnus had been there to anchor the rest of them. But that role had fallen to him in her absence, and he never wanted to shoulder that burden ever again.
They were all trying to recover from the purgatory that had been those three weeks. But Will was most concerned about Magnus, and how she was recovering. If she was recovering.
Even if he hadn't looked for the signs, he'd have known. The whole team had put the pieces together by now. Between the smirking kingpin they had in custody and the nervous testimony of an Abnormal turned informant, there were no longer any doubts.
The others seemed content to let Magnus keep to herself, despite their concern, but Will knew better.
He'd known the moment word of her disappearance had reached them what the most likely outcome would be. Vanishing in Venezuelan cartel territory with no ransom meant one of two possibilities—she'd been killed, or her captors had other plans for her. This time, it had been the latter.
Three weeks after her disappearance, they found her in the region's main cartel compound, beaten, bloody, barely conscious—a later blood panel revealed that she'd been exposed to a steady diet of the local product. But the moment she'd come out of the drug-induced haze, she'd waved away tests and exams that were usually routine.
And, of course, she'd refused to have a sexual assault kit collected.
But for all her refusals and assurances that she was 'fine', she was still hurting—and not just physically. They'd all noticed, but no one would approach her about it. Kate watched her from a respectful distance, Henry didn't even want to think about it, and the Big Guy refused to push her into anything she didn't want to do.
She needed control, he said when Will called him on it, and of course, it was always accompanied by a grunt that hinted he knew something Will didn't. But no matter how they avoided the truth, the result was all the same—tense, wary silence.
Magnus was curt and abrasively professional, and the others adapted by only going to her when absolutely necessary. As soon as they had whatever answer they may or may not have been looking for, they disappeared again as soon as humanly possible.
The rift was growing, and Will knew if he let it continue unchecked, then the whole place could come down around his ears. That was why he stuck around after the latest staff meeting, when all the others had scattered to the winds.
"If you are here for a reason Will, then get on with it," Magnus delivered coarsely, not taking her eyes from the computer. "People staring make my teeth itch."
Will sighed, pushing away from the chair he'd been leaning against. "Magnus, I think you should talk to someone about what happened in Venezuela."
"You already have the pertinent information," she returned smoothly. She turned from the computer, but instead of meeting his gaze as he expected, she focused her attention on the notebook laying open on her desk.
Will's jaw settled into a stubborn angle. Sure, he had the matter-of-fact sequence of events that she remembered. She'd been searching for an Abnormal, but ran into a cartel patrol. She was captured, and a brief interrogation followed before being forced a dose of the cartel's signature cocaine product.
She was lucky to still be alive, and luckier still that she was no more worse for wear than a few bruises and a painful withdrawal upon her return to the Sanctuary. But it meant that after her interrogation she had nothing in the way of memory beyond the vague recollection of a wicked high.
According to the 'pertinent information', she didn't recall anything after that until she woke up in the Sanctuary.
It was a rather tame recounting, he was sure, as much to shield them as it was to protect herself. Her injuries spoke to much more than that, and three weeks was a long time for a woman to be trapped in a cartel full of men.
"All I have is what you want us to know," he returned finally, careful to keep his tone free of accusation. "And that's fine. If you don't want to talk to me, I can help you find someone else you might feel comfortable with."
"I appreciate your concern, Will, but it's unnecessary."
He waited expectantly.
"I'm fine," she finished.
"You're not fine," he countered sharply. "You're short with everyone, and you're pushing us away. It's not fair to us, or to you."
Magnus shut her notebook with an audible snap. "I'm fine—"
"No, you're not! You're angry, hurt—Magnus, you've suffered a huge violation—"
"Do not dare feed me platitudes, Will—do not!" Her volume lifted to a near shout, and her eyes burned fiercely at him, finally making eye contact.
Her shoulders squared, and fury rankled at the edges of her in a nearly visible aura. Apprehension curled in his stomach, but it was quickly dampened by the rush of triumph that coursed through him. For the first time that since it had all happened, it was the first time she'd shown any emotion at all.
She ran her hand through her hair, tearing frustratedly at the long strands. "God, you don't even realize how condescending you sound, do you?" she demanded fiercely. "Do you honestly believe you know my needs better than I?"
"No, of course not," Will said, raising his hands in a show of self-defense. "But in my experience, ignoring a trauma only leads to more problems down the road—"
"In my experience, recovery comes only through continuing business as usual!" she fired back, her eyes flashing. "That is the only way the knot in the pit of your stomach has any chance of disappearing."
Will froze, as realization washed over him. He pressed his eyes closed, cursing himself for not having seen it sooner.
"This isn't the first time it's happened," he stated, meeting her gaze once more. Her eyes burned bitterly at the sudden softness in his voice. "This isn't the first time you've been… assaulted."
Her eyes darkened, and Will felt a lump form in his throat as her expression bordered on reproach.
"Don't bother tiptoeing around the issue, Will. Assault… sexual assault, rape, defilement, being taken advantage of… It all means the same thing. The terms may have changed with the times, but the results haven't."
"Magnus…"
"I come from a different time, Will," she said, turning back to her desk. "A world where abuse was considered to be discipline, women and children were meant to be seen and not heard—and where an unmarried woman my age was either a shrew or a whore." She scoffed a mirthless laugh. "And here a mere boy dares presume to know what I need."
Silence pressed in on Will, staying his tongue. She'd picked up a folder, keeping her hands busy by rifling through the papers it held. But a moment later it snapped shut, and she slammed back onto her desk.
"Damn it, Will!" she exclaimed. One hand planted itself on her hip, the other gesticulating in short, angry strokes. "I have spent 160 years living in a man's world—a world where true learning was denied me because of my gender, and where the majority of my peers were married and with child by the time they were eighteen."
"Magnus, rape is wrong no matter what century it is." It was a fact that Will knew to be true. Just as he knew that no matter how old a person was, no matter how experienced—rape was rape, and none escaped it unscathed. His tone brooked no argument, and yet, she only laughed.
"So naïve," she said, half under her breath, before she pegged him with a minutely softened gaze. "You know Will… the very concept of rape—it's so abhorrent to you, as well it should be. But even so, it's not so very different from what any young bride could expect to face on her wedding night."
She stopped then, taking a breath to steady herself. Her hand left her hip, and suddenly she was no longer the incensed superior. In the blink of an eye, she had tempered into the wizened elucidator he'd met in the middle of a downpour.
"If my father," she continued, her voice smooth and controlled, "had gotten it into his head that I needed to be taken care of, I would have faced the same fate as those other girls. I wouldn't have had any choice in the matter—I wouldn't have been able to say no."
"It's not the 19th Century anymore—"
"No, Will, it isn't. But it is the reality I face, the reality I have faced for over a century. I have traveled unchaperoned, dressed as a man, and by my very nature begged to be put in my proper place." Her eyes lifted to his once more, and she offered him a thin smile. "I am no stranger to being handled roughly, Will."
Her tone had finally softened, but Will almost wished it hadn't. He could crack an angry Magnus, but a resigned Magnus? Not a chance in hell.
Like she said, she had 160 years of fortitude behind her, and even with all her confidence in his skills, there were still things she refused to put much stock in. Therapy was apparently one of them.
In the end, Will could only sigh. "You don't have to go through this alone, Magnus."
This time, her lips curved into a soft, but unintentionally condescending smile. "Will, there will never be an event so completely isolating as this. Nothing. Because for all your good intent and research into treatment, you will never understand what it feels like.
"Yes, I feel violated. Angry. I even feel dirty, despite the cliché. But you can't even begin to comprehend how I feel about what might have happened, let alone the fact I now have to deal with the fact that everyone around me expects me to shatter like a porcelain doll. To even suggest you understand is insulting."
Guilt flashed hot and deep, and Will immediately moved to assure her he'd meant no such thing.
"I—"
But her hand lifted, silencing him.
"And the only way you could possibly begin to understand is if you experienced it for yourself. And if—God forbid—it did happen to you, then you wouldn't want to discuss it any more than I do."
Cool eyes regarded him from behind the veil of her bangs. Her features were not as sharp as they'd been mere minutes ago, but now Will could see the pallor to her cheeks and the dark smudges under her eyes, betraying her difficulty sleeping.
"Now," she continued, bringing his attention back to the conversation. "That said, I do understand your concern, and appreciate it. I never once believed myself to be alone in my recovery, such that it is."
She paused, occupying her gaze with the folders resting on her desk. Her fingers traced the swirls in the aged teak, nervously avoiding his eyes. She looked vulnerable, no longer combative. But she wasn't beaten.
"And in the future, I may very well need a shoulder to lean on. I am simply asking that, until that time, you respect my desire to move on, and to continue life as usual."
Will looked at her. He wanted to do more than wait, but logically he knew that he shouldn't—he couldn't. If he pushed any harder, he would alienate her, and eliminate himself as a potential source of comfort for her.
He wouldn't do that.
"I know you're worried," she continued. "Your training warns you that I'll feel victimized—that I'll break."
It was Will's turn to break eye contact, and he did so by looking sheepishly to the hardwood floor of her office. But even so, a little voice in his head reminded him that she understood more about psychiatry than she would ever admit.
He looked up once more to find that she had not wavered in her regard of him. "I'm not a victim, Will—never have been, never will be. I have seen the love of my life descend into the madness of the world's most notorious serial killer, my father repeatedly disappears and reappears at random, my friends die of old age and my own daughter sacrificed herself to save my life."
Her voice wavered, as it always did when she spoke of Ashley. He let her take a moment, and when she continued, her intonation was solid and unyielding.
"If none of that has broken me… this doesn't even come close to having a chance of it."
Looking into her eyes, Will knew this wasn't an angry, defensive overture, meant to get him off her back. She was telling him the truth and displaying that centuries-old spirit he was so in awe of.
He sighed, knowing he'd been beat. "All right," he accepted finally. "I'll leave you be. I'm here if you need anything, though. We all are."
Her gaze warmed. "I know." She offered a small, thin smile. "Thank you."
Will straightened, tucked his hands into his pockets. He had nothing more left to do here, but it didn't feel right to leave. There had to be more he could do.
"I'm already healing, Will."
He looked at her, surprised by the proffered words.
"Slowly but surely," she continued, "I'm already healing."
For a long moment, he said nothing. He simply looked at her, taking her in. All the subtle power radiating from her, all the fiery grace that set her apart from every other woman on the planet.
She is woman, Will's thoughts whispered unbidden. Hear her roar.
His hand lifted, ostensibly to offer a soundless touch of comfort, but quickly thought better of it. She hadn't moved a muscle, or uttered a word of protest, but the icy shadow that flickered across her features told him all he needed to know. She was healing, but she wasn't ready for anyone to breach the invisible wall she'd put up between herself and the rest of the world.
He nodded. "And when you need that shoulder to lean on…"
"I know where to find you," she answered softly, giving a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Still, it was better than nothing at all.
Will lingered a moment more before he finally took his leave. He was almost through the door when he heard her softly voice his name.
"Will…"
He turned back to look at her, and found her features infinitely softened, and that much more vulnerable. "Never stop challenging me, like this. When you feel something's wrong."
The words echoed the conversation they'd once had however many leagues under the sea, trapped in a submarine. And just as it had then, warmth spread over him, from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes. He'd done good.
"Thank you," she finished.
He nodded, a new responsibility settling on his shoulders—not a burden, but a privilege.
"You're welcome."