For the Climate Control Challenge on the Ministry of Magic Discord.
When Alexander and Angelica step out onto the streets of New York, they are greeted by a layer of fog so thick that they can hardly see the backs of those they fall into step behind. Angelica immediately begins to squint, although it does little more than prompt Alexander's teasing. She sighs in response, relaxing her eyes.
"I suppose I should get used to this kind of weather," she muses. "I hear it's quite grey in London. It's all cloud, rain and fog. That's what John tells me."
Alexander's quick pace slows. "Ah. You've agreed to move, then?"
"Of course." Angelica laughs. Then, careful that her voice doesn't betray her true hesitance, she says, "He's my husband, Alexander. I will go where he goes. It's only right. We can't very well start a family if we're oceans away."
But Alexander—the man who inexplicably knows her better than she knows herself—only frowns. There is no approving a hum—a sound she has long come to crave from him—or even an understanding nod. Their walk, now tainted by her mention of the unmentionable, continues in heavy silence. The lack of easy conversation consumes Angelica so fully that she almost doesn't notice when Alexander slips his hand in hers. It's only when he gives it a gentle squeeze that she starts.
"Alexander."
"It's all right," he says, circling his thumb over the back of her hand. "No one can see us in this fog."
"I'm not…I'm not worried about people seeing." It's a lie. It does worry her. It just doesn't worry her as much as what this—this crossing of a line they've always toed—means. But when she tries to pull her hand away, he holds on. "Alexander. Stop."
"I won't." He looks fiercely at her. "You're leaving for London, Angelica. Just give me this moment. Don't we owe ourselves one moment?"
The fire in his tone is enough to make Angelica falter. All of a sudden, she finds herself nodding. With a wide grin, his grip on her tightens. Once upon a time, it might have made her heart skip. Now, though, it only clenches with guilt.