"Ricochet"
She stepped on the fat Siamese cat's tail. This was her first mistake as her very first day as a housemaid at 10 Downing Street.
Kingsley saw it dart for safety as he shuffled through papers and organized them. He considered this Patti's second mistake, really, but who was counting? The sides of his mouth twitched. She was an attractive black woman who was wore a white apron over a knee-length black dress and simple heels. It could of happened to anyone, honestly, yet this made his day. She looked strangely familiar; he saw something in her eyes. He liked organization; every little thing had its place, so whilst this put his bored mind on pause as he sat at the front desk, Kingsley found he didn't mind it.
Last June, when the Minister of the Muggles had learned the truth from Rufus Scrimgeour, Kingsley's cover was out in the open. Upon learning he had a wizard as part of his security detail, the Minister of the Muggles had insisted Kingsley carry a firearm. Thinking he though to draft Scrimgeour an owl thanking him for putting him in awkward position, Kingsley pulled the shaky man aside, his charge, and explained why this wasn't necessary.
An ordinary man, a secretary, couldn't carry a gun on government premises. He didn't have a permit, for one thing, and Kingsley didn't feel that comfortable using it. Again, the Minister of Muggles. heard not a word. Yes, Kingsley understood Muggle laws; whenever he took on a role, he become that person. What self respecting man could protect himself with a drumstick? The Minister of Muggles followed this logic. Hadn't Scrimgeour performed magic in front of this man? Perhaps it had been simple stuff because he was certainly afraid of magic. Maybe he thought Mr. Fudge and Mr. Scrimgeour were people who had performed parlor tricks. Muggles called these everyday people magicians.
He'd been washing his hands in the restroom when the Minister of Muggles walked in, his eyes darting everywhere, and closed the door. Although he kept his hand on the door handle, Kingsley noticed he did not lock it. Mentally crossing this one off his list, Kingsley added this as an awkward work encounter, and he reminded himself to share it with Remus Lupin.
"Shacklebolt," he'd said, rethinking this private meeting.
"Sir."
What else was he supposed to do? Was he to pretend the politician wasn't there? The other stalls were empty. Kingsley placed his hand under the soap dispenser, lathered up, and washed his hands like some practiced surgeon to kill time. Fighting an urge to roll his eyes, Kingsley realized this was taking too long. He disliked the pregnant pause. Should he wash his hands again or escape into the stall again to make this a little less awkward for the pair of them? As he stood there debating this, Kingsley decided he didn't like Rufus Scrimgeour. As it was flu season, he opted to wash his hands again after he tossed the paper towel in the bin. He admitted the automatic motion hand detector thing was pretty cool. He'd played with it on his first day on the job, and he'd wasted a quick lunch examining it. (He'd pretended to have a bug, so staff members steered clear of the restroom for a while.) Arthur Weasley would have had a field day with his Muggle contraption.
"I know what you are." The Minister of Muggles hesitated, doubting whether he really wanted to have this chat. Kingsley caught his reflection in the large bathroom mirror. There was another pause. The Minister of Muggles spoke with the air of admitting something unpleasant. "I met, er, Mr. Fudge and Mr. Scrimgeour last night. Actually, it was this morning. Who schedules an unannounced midnight meeting?"
Kingsley took the point, but he remained silent. He snatched a bit of paper towel out of the motion detector thing, sadly realizing this would be the highlight of his day, dried his hands, and threw the paper towel away.
The Minister of Muggles walked over, reaching inside his jacket, and placed the firearm on the pristine countertop. The bathroom had just bern cleaned and the place smelled lemony fresh.
"For your protection." The Minister of Muggles probably thought he needed to explain because Kingsley didn't move a muscle. His confidence waned and his face fell. "You shoot it. You do know how to hit a moving target?"
Kingsley, smiling slightly, checked the magazine. After sliding the clip back in place, handling the gun with a deft hand, he reached in his trouser pocket and tossed change into the air. There were loud bangs in the closed space as he released the trigger thrice; the sound ricocheted off the walls. He hit the targets in air and picked the damaged pocket money off the floor before placing it in the shocked man's hand.
"You're better than Mr. Glenn." Impressed, the Minister of Muggles slid the coins into his trouser pocket. Kingsley placed the gun, sliding it into its locked position, back on the counter. The Minister of Muggles offered him a position on the spot. "You want to join my security detail, Mr. Shacklebolt?"
Kingsley turned to face him, his voice calm and measured. He found this downright funny. "Sir, I am your security detail."
"Right." He cleared his throat. "What do you do in the, er, magical community?"
"Good question. Come with me."
Kingsley strode over to the door because they were certainly spending too much time in the public restroom. When he opened the door, the Minister of Muggles pocketed the gun in a hurry and an overweight man walked inside. They stepped out into the corridor together. As it was close to lunchtime, Kingsley walked the Minister of Muggles into his office. Patti, the housemaid, had bought up a laden tray and dropped something when she saw Kingsley.
Kingsley, realizing too late he should have walked into the office after the Minister of Muggles, rushed over to gather the silverware. She wore red lipstick and smelled of lavender, which triggered a fleeting memory. It was gone as fast as it came.
"Thank you. Minister," she said, straightening up and backing out of the room. She was a young thing in her early-thirties. Patti closed the door.
"She likes you," said the Minister of Muggles. He was a bachelor. "She's not married. Ah, she spilled coffee on the Axminister. That's a shame!"
"Not to worry." Kingsley turned away from the door and waved his wand over the mess. The spill disappeared. He swore the ugly portrait of Ulick Gamp winked at him whilst cleaning out his ear with an end of a quill. A moment later, Gamp vanished, and the portrait was simply a blank canvas. He appeared to have walked out of it. Kingsley took his regular stance and waited for the Minister of Muggles to offer him a seat.
He thought he had been called in here because of the gold earring. They had had the firearm discussion before.
"Sit down." The Minister of Muggles divided his lunch, a large turkey sandwich and a plain salad, and waved at the chair opposite his handsome desk. He left the crisps unopened and poured a couple drinks from his decanter.
Kingsley sat. "I'm fine, Minister, thank you."
"You're much more polite than Fudge," he noted, handing him a drink and walking around his desk to take his seat. He waved at the food, telling Kingsley to tuck in. He went for the crisps first. "Martha always prepares to much, anyway, and I'm diabetic."
Kingsley had no idea what the last part meant, though he bet it was a health condition. Not wanting to appear stupid in front of the man, he decided to look it up later. The Siamese cat, who had been hiding, came out from under the desk.
"Hey, Milo. What're you doing here?" The Minister of Muggles grinned when his fat cat jumped lithely onto the windowsill and patrolled his new territory, his chocolate-colored tail in the air. "He's supposed to be in the residence. Don't tell anyone."
"Of course not." Kingsley thought the housemaid would find out about the furry friend sooner or later. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and sighed when the Minister of Muggles offered him the firearm for the third time. Kingsley took out his wand, and the Minister of Muggles flinched, so he put it away. "Minister, I am perfectly fine taking care of myself, thank you."
"Take it. It'll make me feel better. You don't have to use it," he added hastily, seeing Kingsley's set expression. He finally relaxed when Kingsley slid it inside his jacket. He took a large bite of his sandwich. "So, what dis you say you do?"
"Military intelligence." Kingsley pulled the answer out of nowhere, for this was the closest he felt getting to the truth on such short notice. The Minister of Muggles wanted a better answer. Kingsley polished off his sandwich and dropped all pretenses. "I catch Dark wizards."
"Oh, well," said the Minister of Muggles, trying to pull this off like it was nothing, knocked over the crisps and bent to pick them up. "That's ... that's something. Ever killed anyone?"
"Yes," said Kingsley, matter-of-factly. He did not elaborate. He jumped to his feet when he heard a loud bang outside. There was a flash of light. The Minister of Muggles got to his feet, too. Kingsley, taking out his wand, heard a loud crack, and checked the large window, shoving George out off the way. After she arched her back, a woman laid on the pavement. He held up a hand, stopping his charge. "You stay."
Kingsley locked the Minister of Muggles inside his own office with a tap of his wand before he dashed outside. Feeling stupid, doing this simply for appearances, he held the gun aloft and clicked a bullet into the chamber, although he pocketed it immediately it when there was another loud crack. Someone had Disapparated.
An officer stood off to the side, his arm extended. This, Kingsley guessed, must be Mr. Glenn. A few feet away a housemaid laid motionless on the ground. There was no blood. Mr. Glenn, muttering that he had definitely seen something strange, finally lowered his gun. Kingsley, dropping to his feet, reminding himself not to use his wand, started compressions on the young woman.
"I ... I shot her. She came out of nowhere." The color drained from Mr. Glenn's face.
"Call an ambulance!" Kingsley shouted at him. "Go!"
He started compressions as Glenn rushed back inside. When he went to give her air, Kingsley tensed a little. There was something hard under her dress. Yes, he thought as he tasted her lips, this woman was definitely making a move. Patti wrapped her arms around his neck as he started lifting her in his arms. She kissed with tongue. This, too, felt familiar. He tried to pull away, and part of him wanted to, but he let her take the lead as they went around the corner. This felt fantastic. As he set her down on the ground, he remembered this goodbye kiss.
She'd picked up right where they'd left off three years ago to the day.
They broke apart. "Patricia."
She smiled at him, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Hello, Kingsley."
After setting her back on the ground, Kingsley followed her back inside, not really sure what to say. The last time he'd heard she'd taken yet another assignment in New York. Three years ago, standing in the middle of a bustling train station, she'd handed him his ring back. After calling off their six year engagement, she'd kissed him goodbye and left the country. She looked different.
For the second time that day, Kingsley found himself in a private room with a stranger. She cast a Silencing Charm. She'd taken him into a guest bedroom in the residence and dusted the place with quick hands. He watched her, saying nothing when she winced. As she straightened things, her appearance started to shift. She gasped for air, and he rushed to her side, thinking she'd gotten hurt. As her appearance shifted, Patti's hair shifted from dark to blonde. Her eyes changed back to blue. He loved those eyes. When she stopped, the dress hung a little looser around her frame.
"Polyjuice Potion," he said. "You said you hated the stuff."
She nodded, biting her lip nervously. She started to get to her feet, muttering something about reassignment.
"You got shot." Kingsley reached out and took her by the arm. Panic ruined his usual calm demeanor. He'd saw the woman he had once loved almost get killed. When she said it was nothing, he actually laughed. "You could've died. I would've never gotten the chance to tell you I still ..."
He froze when Patti started stripping in front of him. He'd never done more than kiss her, and whilst he'd definitely enjoyed and missed these games, Kingsley kept a level head. After all, never mind that she had fallen into a cliché, this was neither the time nor the place. She'd turned her back to him. The tattoo on her shoulder was new. When the dress fell, she held it to her skin. She wore a black layer underneath her clothes.
"It's a bulletproof vest," she said, taking it off.
Why hadn't Kingsley thought of that? A silver shell was lodged near her heart. She held it aloft, examining it closely. The letters NYPD were stitched across its torso in white lettering; she mentioned in an offhand way that a New York City police officer, a close friend, had given her this as a birthday gift. There was a hole in her uniform. Kingsley stared at her black bra, an expensive thing, as she turned to face him. A purple bruise had formed where the impact had hit. "He's a good shot, Mr. Glenn."
Before she could say anything else, Kingsley pressed his lips to hers. Patti could have died on the pavement, and he would've have even noticed it until the effects of the potion had worn off. As he lifted her in his arms again, she wrapped her legs around his waist; her heels dug into his back and her dress fell down. He got lost in her kisses again.
"You still a devout Catholic?" She whispered in his ear.
He nodded, sighing when he felt her unhook his belt. He warned her, his tone suddenly stern. Why even bother asking him about faith if she was simply going to go there? "Patti."
"No sex till marriage. I know, I know. You've told me a hundred times." Patti pushed him. He fell backward onto the bed and groaned when she undid his trousers and unbuttoned his shirt. "You want me to stop?"
Yes, yes, we definitely need to stop. Let's go with that. Kingsley ignored the voice inside his head. Something pulled below his waist, and he enjoyed the sound of Patti's laughter. "No."
Patti sighed, content, as she moved above him. "Kingsley."
"No sex." He wanted her. He cried out, cursing when she shifted her hips and changed his mind. He pulled at her, promising to attend evening Mass, though it would do him no good. "This never happened. Just once."
"Just once." She nodded, and Kingsley groaned as Patti took over. It happened more than once.
After a month had passed, it was like the last three years had never happened. After he'd ended it with her, or rather when Patti had called things off, Kingsley got lost in his work. Sirius Black had provided a good distraction. After the Ministry of Magic finally accepted the truth, things moved quickly, and Kingsley, who had a knack for dressing like a Muggle, asked to be placed on detail with the Minister of Muggles. Rufus Scrimgeour hadn't thought of that, though he'd clearly taken the credit for it.
They made love at dawn after she'd accepted his drowsy proposal. She'd keep the ring.
"I can get you another one," he said, taking her by left hand after Patti had slipped on her old engagement ring.
"No need." She kissed his bare chest.
"Why did you keep it?" As he laid there thinking it over, Kingsley found this bothered him. It stung. He stopped her. Yes, this was another chance, but he didn't want to make the same mistake. She had to be sure. He was older now, nearly forty, and whilst he didn't want to scare her, he wasn't going through this again. He kissed her, not wanting to ruining things first thing in the morning. "Tell me."
"I love you." Patti got out of bed and pulled on his purple dressing gown. She looked beautiful and troubled. "I didn't know I wanted this. I didn't know, all right? When I got to New York, I was miserable, and I almost came back, but you asked me to stop writing you."
"You left me. I gave you time. Who doesn't know after six years? Six years!" Kingsley, furious, took a shower. He had to meet with the Minister of Muggles and Minister Scrimgeour in an hour. As he picked out a suit, a grey one, Patti polished his shoes by hand. Slipping one of his earrings in his ear, he checked his reflection in the rectangular mirror above the dresser. After draping a tie over his neck, he walked over to her with his hand open, palm facing up. "I'd like my engagement ring back, please."
"What? No!" Patti wrapped her fair hair in a tight bun and stepped into her shoes. Even though he hadn't reached for it, she yanked her left hand away. He frowned at her as she applied makeup. "You just asked me to marry you."
Kingsley wasn't going to wait another six years so she could leave him again. Three years ago, they'd been a mere five days away from walking down the aisle before she'd called it off, and he'd practically begged her for a reason why at the train station. In hindsight, now that he thought about it, Kingsley should not have stayed there on the platform as he'd watched her disappear from his life.
"I went to New York." Kingsley offered her his hands so she could do his cufflinks; he decided to drop it and be honest with her as well. He might not have liked the answer, yet it was an honest one.
If Patti was taken off guard, she betrayed nothing. "When?"
"Last October. You were shopping with a man on Fifth Street. You were pushing a pram, and he held this yellow umbrella over you." Kingsley recalled every moment of that scene perfectly. He sighed when she pulled off his tie and swapped a black one for a blue one. She fixed it, looping it through with quick fingers. He shrugged, remembering he didn't have an umbrella that afternoon. "You picked up this fussy baby wrapped in a pink blanket and rocked it back to sleep like you'd done it every day of your life. I couldn't compete with that, so I left. Where's your daughter?"
Patti searched through her red handbag, searching for what he thought was a wallet with baby pictures, and found a wristwatch. She dressed down for this role. Kingsley tapped his foot, waiting. If she'd left her family behind to come chase after him, they hadn't even started arguing.
"I don't have a daughter." She left the bedroom, and he followed her, wanting a stronger answer. They headed outside and walked a short distance before Apparating together near Downing Street. Pulling her apron on and taking a swig of Polyjuice Potion; she changed back into a simple black woman and pocketed the ring. Patti rarely bothered with altering her voice because she'd picked up an indistinguishable accent as a world traveller. "If I had a small daughter, don't you think I'd be carrying her on my hip? You know me better than anyone."
Kingsley hesitated. She had a point there. On their first date, years ago, she'd come right out and said she wanted a big family. Patti Strauss was an only child who was raised by strict, detached workaholics. In her thirties, she was running out of time. Kingsley didn't really want kids. This hadn't been a breaking point in their relationship because he would have given her children and been happy with his lot.
"Oh, in case you were wondering, I'm not going to wear you out once we're married. That is, if we're getting married." Patti flashed her pass at the bored security guard standing sentinel on Number 10. Kingsley did the same. They walked inside, and Kingsley hung her red coat in the wardrobe on the ground floor.
"Patti, it's fine." He lowered his voice, for other staff members were watching them. He wouldn't be surprised if she got pregnant on their wedding night. It would be ideal, really, if they were lucky, especially if she wanted more than one because they raced against her ticking biological clock.
"You're good on that score." She went to go fetch coffee and met him at his desk. Kingsley worked the entire shift without slowing down. Partly because he was a wizard, he got through his workload three times faster than other staff members. He refused to slack whilst he was undercover. Patti placed his coffee, black with sugar, on the desk and admired his typing skills as his fingers danced on the keyboard. When he asked Patti what she meant by her previous statement, she said simply, "I'm sterile", and went to join the household staff.
Thrown by this bit of news, Kingsley accidentally deleted his document, a lengthy memo, and started drafting it again. This was for a press release. He'd mastered the formatting of his documents within a day of starting on Downing Street. He couldn't go chasing after her, and Kingsley didn't want to have that conversation at the moment, so he spent the day chained to his desk. Nobody on Downing Street knew they were together. As they worked in the background as a secretary and a housemaid, they preferred it this way.
Kingsley wished to keep the engagement a secret. For one thing, they'd been down this road before, and his grandmother on his father's side openly pretended Patricia Evelyn Strauss didn't exist. Her parents got landed with the overall wedding costs. Her father, a close friend of Kingsley's, told her not to come home until the air cleared. Of course, the pureblood purists in his family, although they were thankfully not within the inner circle, claimed he had dodged a bullet. Patti was a half-blood, and the Shacklebolt name meant something. What fool ruined a family tree over some girl? His name was in that ridiculous pureblood book.
A good number of his relations disliked Patti because she was a white woman.
Oddly enough, Kingsley thought as he marked his stopping spot, his grandmother might have liked Patti now since they wouldn't harm the family tree. He had considered acting like he didn't know Patti; he did this with Order members all the time. However, since he had saved her life in front of Mr. Glenn, he could hardly pretend she wasn't there. Last month, Kingsley had walked out of Downing Street with another woman, according to the Prime Minister's staff.
"They think you're my wife," guessed Kingsley, grabbing a green apple out of the fruit basket and rinsing it underneath the tap. "Why do you choose to wear a disguise, anyway? The Muggles won't recognize you. The potion seems wasted."
"Or it provides a layer of protection," said Patti darkly, checking out her alternate disguise in the back of a spoon.
She patted her dark hair. Kingsley almost took this story as good enough, but honestly, he was curious. She spotted to it his face, though it was a subtle hint. She nodded at two housemaids, acknowledging them, until they left. Office romances had no place on Downing Street. Patti reached into a cupboard and grabbed a glass before filling it at the tap. They were alone, hopefully at least for a few minutes.
"All right, I am going to tell you something. Kingsley, you cannot judge, panic, storm out, or threaten action." Patti crossed her arms and tapped her foot. She helped herself to a leftover bagel and covered it with a cream cheese spread. Patti placed the spread back in the refrigerator.
"All right." Kingsley wasn't sure he wanted to hear this. He took out his wand, held a finger to his lips, and locked the door with a tap of his wand. She handed him a copy of the New York Chronicle and tapped a picture of a friendly, fair haired man. He shrugged, completely lost, as he read through some article about a New York senator.
"I was working uncover as a No-Maj in Madison Square Garden on New Year's Eve ten years ago. It was my first liaison contact in the States. I went to a masquerade ball. A No-Maj is a Muggle," she said, answering his next question without skipping a beat. She rubbed the fingertips of her left hand together. Patti stopped.
"Just tell me," he said, seeing the fear etched on her face. He expected to hear about a boyfriend or a one night stand. They'd been engaged the first time round for a few months. "It's fine."
"I met a senator. This man." She tapped on the newspaper. "And he asked me to help him over to the hotel. He was drunk, I expect ..."
Kingsley held up his hand, finished his apple, and tossed the core into the wastebasket. He didn't like where this was headed, and he didn't want to know. Patti, a wealthy woman, fit in well with the high class society, which is why the United States government, MACUSA, probably picked her for this assignment.
"I don't want to know," he said, checking the fruit bowl.
"No, Kingsley, if I don't tell you ... " Patti caught her breath, casting a terrified look at the door. She held his face in her hands, and they were trembling. In her excitement, she knocked the bagel onto the tiled floor. "You'll marry me no matter what?"
"No." He gave her an honest answer; Kingsley turned his head and tapped the newspaper. The man sought re-election in MACUSA. He read off the name in the caption. "Barney Grimsditch."
"I'm only going to say this once." Her skin turned green.
"Okay," said Kingsley, getting bored, and frankly, wondering if she'd admit anything at all at this point. He checked his watch. People stood outside waiting to grab a quick bite to eat during the last minutes of lunch. "Patricia."
Patti picked her bagel off the floor and tossed it in the wastebasket. "That man ... he raped me."
Kingsley stared at her, speechless. He sank into a chair at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Patti left, opening the kitchen door, apologizing to the waiting queue outside, and disappeared into a bustling crowd as someone shouted about some story concerning the Royal Family. Nausea washed over him. When someone offered him a glass of water and some pills, he took them in one swallow, not even caring what they were. They took effect some fifteen minutes later.
Kingsley didn't know what to do. Later that evening, he'd arrived home alone. Technically, she didn't live here; he lived as a bachelor in his expensive flat. Patricia had a toothbrush in his toothbrush holder and her makeup bag was under the sink. He'd planned on buying her a dressing gown, yet it kept slipping his mind for some reason. He searched the entire place, although she definitely wasn't there. Hours later, he woke to the sound of running water and walked into the bathroom.
After closing the lid, he sat on the toilet. "Patti?"
"Yeah?" Her silhouette was clouded by the frosted door. She raised her voice so he could hear her over the rushing water. Steam filled the room. She opened the door a little and stuck out her hand; the engagement ring glittered there. "I need the shampoo from the linen cupboard, please."
Kingsley grabbed the lavender scented stuff for her. As she had moved her stuff into his linen cupboard, he read this as a good sign. He gave her the shampoo. When she stepped out of the shower, Patti pulled on Kingsley's dressing gown over his Puddlemere United t-shirt she'd "borrowed" as a nightshirt. As she brushed her teeth, Kingsley watched her.
"What?" She cleaned out the sink.
"Patti, you know what." Kingsley walked into the bedroom and left the bedroom door open. When she joined him, he was climbing into bed. When she laid down and rolled on her side, not facing him, Kingsley ran his fingers through her damp hair. He lowered his voice, although they were quite alone. "What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Go to sleep." Patti didn't move.
He sat up in bed, thinking hard, for he'd been running this revelation through his mind all day; he couldn't help himself. Kingsley shook her, not letting her nod off. When she insisted Kingsley drop it, he grew angry and relit a candle.
"Why tell me?" He shot at her.
"You're going to be my husband," she said, agitated now, giving up sleep for the time being. She might doze off later, but this wasn't going to be a good eight hours' rest. She took his hand, intertwining their fingers. They said nothing for a while. "I wanted to tell you. We don't keep secrets. It happened, I got through it, and I'd rather not relive it. It's too late to do anything, anyway, and he'll get reelected."
"Is that why you left?" Kingsley rubbed her shoulder.
"Yes and no." She gave a cryptic answer on purpose, sounding too tired to elaborate. Before he pressed her, she reminded him of the law. "The statue of limitations has expired. Senators get reelected all the time, Kingsley. It's the system. They asked me to protect Mr. Grimsditch during the election, and I declined. I quit. He's one of what they call the Originals. One of the Twelve, a good old boy, as they say in the States."
"The Originals." Kingsley jarred his memory.
Kingsley had heard of the Original Twelve Aurors in the United States of America. He knew the name, although he knew next to nothing about them. He had been only concerned with Mr. Grimsditch. He was vaguely aware that he painstakingly pieced this together. He draped his hand over her shoulder, she cuddled next to him. Again, they fell into a comfortable silence.
"Patti. Patti?" Kingsley lifted their linked hands. Patti's grip broke apart because she finally drifted off to sleep. Her other hand rested on his chest. Kingsley raised his head a little and blew out the candle, calling it a night. He whispered, for he had no idea if she heard him or not as he listened to her soft breathing. He shifted, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I love you still. No matter what."