Chapter 12 - Sometimes life makes you face your fears.
December 21, 2005

Deirdre followed Gareth around the makeshift partition back into the kitchen. I'd rather it was you. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement. She supposed it showed some trust in her. But after their argument yesterday, that awkward end to the evening at the bar, whatever he'd done to keep her asleep all night, and the terrifying start to the day, she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to him. Her hands restlessly set aside the notebook, then picked it up, set it down again and busied themselves refilling the tea kettle, setting it to boil, and rummaging for tea bags while Gareth made more coffee. He tapped the kettle with his wand to boil the water instantly and poured it over the tea bag she'd dropped in. He handed her the cup and she tried to smile her thanks as she took it. She didn't trust herself to talk just yet. She had to decide the best way to proceed— "Why did you drug me or spell me or whatever to keep me asleep last night?" Oh, brilliant. Her mouth was going to circumvent her brain and just jump to the least necessary question at hand.

Gareth made a face, sloshing some cream into his mug. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding truly remorseful. "My head wasn't in a good place last night. I just…couldn't face another night like the one before. And you looked exhausted, and I thought at least one of us should get a good night's sleep and be able to think more clearly." He dumped several spoonfuls of sugar into the mug and then added a dash of vanilla.

The sarcastic laugh escaped her before she could even fully form her words. "I don't know that I've been able to think clearly since Joshua called me and asked me to come," she muttered, combing her fingers through her still-damp hair.

He shrugged, picking up his coffee mug and heading towards the back door. "You asked for help when things felt out of control. I wasn't able to do that. So of the two of us, you currently have the better track record for being clear headed." He looked back at her, tilting his head toward the door, his thick, blonde hair falling over his eyes for a moment. "Do you want to sit outside again? You'd better enjoy the weather here while you can. London will still be pretty cold and wet when you go home."

"Right, yeah," she answered, wishing she didn't notice his hair, or that his shirts hung more loosely on his frame than they used to, or that his eyes seemed to have a glimmer of hope in spite of their tiredness. She felt so raw and fragile, afraid the slightest word from him would break her, and equally afraid she would somehow inadvertently break him. She picked up the notebook, carrying it and the tea cup as she followed him.

It was a perfectly glorious day, the kind detailed on travel brochures for weather-weary Londoners eager to escape their harsh winters. Not for the first time, Deirdre wished the circumstances of her visit were different. This would be a lovely place to come on holiday, and she could feel her body relaxing as she stepped into the sunshine. She must have sighed or something, because Gareth turned back and looked at her, his mouth twisting up in a sort of half smile. "Are you wishing you'd bought that cottage on the beach after all?"

"As soon as I can afford it, I will," she shrugged.

Gareth sighed and rubbed at the couple days of stubble on his face he hadn't bothered to shave. He drew his wand and levitated the chairs and table from the patio out onto the sand. "And who exactly are you trying to prove yourself to?" he muttered, sinking into one of the chairs and dropping his wand into the sand at his feet.

Deirdre frowned as she set her tea cup on the small table between them and curled up in the other chair, tucking her legs beneath her. "I'm not trying to prove myself, I—" she stopped speaking and stared at him. She wanted to deny it. It still felt different to her. She had merely been trying to avoid using any of his adoptive family's money. But with his remark she could see how similar it looked, both of them working themselves into the ground and each thinking the other was being ridiculous. She swallowed, willing herself not to cry anymore. "I didn't want your money," she said, wincing a little at how harsh that sounded. "I mean, it felt…strange, taking your family's money after I'd broken up with you…like I was a…" She didn't even finish the thought. It was too ugly, and she could tell from the way he stiffened up that he was angry at the idea.

"No one would have thought that," he ground out, turning away to stare out over the water. She blinked quickly to keep the tears away. After a moment his stiff posture slumped a little and he turned back towards her. "None of us earned any of that money," he said in a calmer voice. "Oscar inherited control of the company from his grandfather. He and his cousins kept it going, and now I'm trying to do the same. But the pack, each person, including you," he said firmly, "has contributed to our family. You're no different than me or Isabel or Kieran or even Remus. They all got a trust fund, because that was what Papá wanted, to be able to help people that until very recently had no other way to earn a real living and take care of themselves."

"I didn't think about it like that," she whispered, clutching the notebook to her chest.

"You were right though, I was trying to prove myself too," he offered, shaking his head with a soft self-deprecating laugh. "At least some of the time. If it makes you feel better you can say, 'I told you so'. I did realize while I was playing at the bar last night, I don't like being here alone. I do miss my family. I miss how easy things were back on the reservation. I miss you," he finished, looking away from her to stare back at the waves.

She was thankful he'd turned away, thankful he wasn't watching her as she tried to process why he'd say that, what it meant. She set the notebook down in the chair beside her and reached for the now tepid cup of tea, just to give her hands something to do. As she glanced at him, she saw Gareth was twisting his own coffee cup around in his hands, clenching the handle, then slowing turning it and running a thumb over the rim. He always did that when he was thinking about something.

"I didn't go into the water this morning on purpose," he said, startling her out of her reverie.

"Sorry?"

He shifted in the chair, fully facing her, his face somber. "You said, 'What were you thinking?' But I was asleep, honestly. In my dream I…" he looked away for a moment, then back, his face flushed. "You were being taken away by someone, and I was chasing after you. I don't know when I hit the water or what happened. I just didn't want you to think that I was…at risk for…for doing something stupid."

There was a quick dull pang in her chest. Seeing him out there in the water, that sodden pile of fur…Her eyes stung and she banged the tea cup down, pushing the heels of her hands against her eyes. Was she ever going to stop crying?!

"Whoa, sorry," he said quickly, leaning towards her. "That was supposed to make you feel better. Deirdre, look, I…" he paused and ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, frustrated breath. "I need you to help me hold things together," he finally said. "I want to get better, I really do. I don't even know that I fully realized that until last night. But I don't know how, and I need…I need an anchor, because I feel like I'm right on the edge of losing absolutely everything and I don't know how to stop it. I know that's a lot to ask, I know I'm a lot, and we have…a complicated history. And I'm sorry I asked you to come with me to Peru, back then. I knew you didn't want to move here, and once I was here I realized what you'd meant, about how hard it would be for them to accept you. A lot of them are absolutely horrible snobs. I'd intended to just ask you to wait, to give me a little time to set things in order, but I just kept talking…couldn't shut up. So what came out of my mouth was asking you to move here with me. And I know that scared you off, that I was too overbearing."

Well, they'd done it. They'd finally broken through the stiff formality that had colored most the last few days. But she felt frozen, unable to reciprocate the openness he was showing. There was a long pause as she tried to think of something to say. "I didn't think you were overbearing," she finally offered quietly, staring down at her lap. "I told myself I was making it easier on you all, that I was ending things so you could focus on your family, but…I was scared because I couldn't be what you needed here. I knew you'd get settled and find some girl who was all the things I couldn't be — a proper witch from the right sort of family," she finished in a small voice. That was the truth, at least the truth back then. But she was afraid if she said the whole truth, that she was also tired of being alone, that she'd been working so, so hard and her life felt like a completely wasted effort, that she'd stayed away last year when he came home because she knew she wouldn't be able to say no again if he asked her to come to Peru, that she'd missed him as well and some days desperately regretted her choice. But if she said it all out loud Deirdre was afraid she'd finally shatter and not be able to put the pieces back. There was still too much to overcome. Nothing changed the fact that she was a squib with no connections or training that mattered in his world. There were balls and dinners to attend with wealthy and connected families that affected both business and politics. She wasn't a good bet for someone in his position. It wasn't that he was a lot. It was that she wasn't enough. Like a broken record, she had to keep repeating to herself the reasons it wouldn't work between them, so she wouldn't give in to her feelings for him.

There was another long pause and then Gareth leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. "Well," he said flatly, "that proper witch from the right sort of family was a scheming evil temptress who wanted to destroy us all. I'm clearly an excellent judge of character." He threw back a swig of his coffee and made a face. "And now the coffee's cold." He retrieved his wand from the sand and quickly cast a reheating charm on each of their cups. "Look, you're supposed to take notes for Professor Snape, so let's just focus on that," he said with a tired sigh.

She opened the notebook and turned to the next blank page, fumbling for a moment with the pen. Clearing her throat, she said quietly, "The professor wanted to know more about what happened around the time the nightmares began."

"It was September of last year," Gareth began, his voice flat and weary. "Just after my last visit home. I was, uh, pretty depressed when I got back and so the first couple times I just assumed it was, you know, all the emotion of that trip bringing up stuff from the war. The nightmares were pretty much the normal ones, just happening more frequently."

"What do you mean by pretty much the normal ones? Were there some that were different?" She was trying to use her calm and professional voice. She didn't want her own turbulent emotions to cause her to miss any details that might be pertinent.

He glanced at her and then back to the water. She was glad he'd suggested talking outside. The rhythmic crash of the waves was soothing, and it provided something to visually focus on so they didn't have to look at each other when things felt uncomfortable. "They were all about you," he finally said, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "About that fight with Travers in the castle. But in each one you died and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I'd had nightmares like that before, but never so often or so…vivid." He let out a slow breath. "I figured it was because I'd come home to ask if we could start over, but you…weren't there."

You weren't there. That was putting it mildly. She'd point blank refused to visit any homes he might have possibly been at or answer any phone calls from any interfering pack members. "Our Gemma still gives me a hard time for that," Deirdre muttered. "She said I funked it. And she was right." Hesitating only a moment, she finally wrote all that down. It wouldn't lessen her guilt for Remus or Professor Snape not to know about it, and if it would help Gareth she guessed she could endure a little more humiliation. "So besides the nightmares, did anything out of the ordinary happen after you got back?" she asked, her voice raspy. "Was there something odd at work or an encounter with someone that seemed off at the time?"

He tilted his mug of coffee, swirling the last dregs first one way and then the other. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't remember anything strange happening after that. In fact, things at work were going well. I sort of threw myself into it, to keep my mind off you. But the nightmares were happening all the time and they just wore me down. By mid October I'd started seeing the shadow figures and dealing with the sleep paralysis. That was when I started trying sleeping potions. I finally found that Somniafuga would work, but when I used it every night I couldn't function well during the day. By last Christmas I was alternating the potions to sleep and stay awake."

Deirdre looked over the notes, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. To keep my mind off you. What a bloody mess. He was being open and vulnerable, and she was so…so confused. There was a pull in her heart to just blurt out that she still loved him and regretted her decision, regretted that she hadn't been braver, and there was an equal pull to hide away, knowing she was never going to be enough for who he was and what his position represented. Her vision blurred, and she blinked the tears away, almost swearing out loud. She was so sick and tired of crying. "Right, then I think we have to go further back," she said briskly. "It seems like things were already set in place when you came back from England. So what was going on before your trip?"

Gareth shrugged helplessly. He leaned forward in the chair, head in his hands as he tried to think. "Things were pretty quiet," he finally said. "I'd been sober for over a year. Things at the company were going well. People were trusting me again to make good decisions. The research and development we'd done in integrating magic with No-Maj tech was working out beautifully, and we'd had several companies reach out with offers for using some of our insulating spells and charmed components for hardware."

He paused and stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back again with his arms crossed. "But I was dealing with…some depression I think. At least, I wasn't happy, like ever. Sometimes I could forget for an hour or so that I wasn't happy. Maria had me over for dinner a lot, and with her children and grandchildren all running around, that was at least distracting. And it reminded me of home. But I was sort of stuck in my own head, feeling guilty about Daisy, angry at Valentina, and disgusted with myself."

Deirdre took in a deep breath. That was a point she needed to press. He was angry with that witch. He felt guilty because of what she'd done to his sister. He was disgusted with himself for letting her get so close. It all revolved around her, it must. "I think we need to talk about…about Valentina," she said, forcing the name out. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"They arrested her the day the bomb went off. I saw her at the trial, which took forever. There were so many layers to it, and because of her father's ties to the Death Eaters, the lawyers added charges for espionage and treason. Not trumped up charges," he clarified. "They found tons of evidence that she'd continued to try and embezzle money and had contact with pretty evil people in the UK and Europe. There was proof that money changed hands with people who were later arrested for terrorism and insurrection. There was a trail of bodies that could be linked directly to her. I was actually surprised she hadn't planted evidence tying me to any of that. Then they couldn't decide on the death penalty versus life in prison. I saw her every day of the trial and she never did or said anything…" His voice trailed off and he sat there silently, his brow wrinkled in a deep frown. "The sentencing was later," he added in a whisper, as though the thought surprised him. "The court recessed for the summer before the sentencing. That part didn't happened until about two weeks before I came back to England. I saw her that day."

He'd remembered something, it was obvious. Deirdre stayed quiet, hoping the memory would come naturally.

"Her lawyer returned a piece of jewelry to me that I'd given her, a necklace I had made with a stone that had been part of tiara that belonged to Oscar and Luis' grandmother." He made a face. "I was such an idiot. There'd been so much bad blood between them, and I thought she and I could patch things up. I thought she wanted a unified family."

"What did you do with the necklace?" Deirdre asked, scribbling furiously to record all the details.

"Destroyed it," he shrugged. "I saw her handle it and every time she looked at me there was so much hatred, I wondered if she'd done something to it. So I didn't even touch it. I picked it up with a handkerchief and stuck it in my briefcase. There's a safe room at the factory where we deal with cursed pieces. I took it there. They didn't find anything odd about it, but I had them take it apart and destroy it anyway. He hesitated and then added, "She did say something, hissed it really, as she left the courtroom. It could have been a spell, but I didn't recognize it, and no one around acted like she'd done anything out of the ordinary. Her wand had been taken when they arrested her, and there were wanded guards all over the place keeping an eye on things."

"Can you write down what it sounded like?" Deirdre asked, holding the notebook and pen out to him.

Gareth took it, and scribbled something down, but sat there staring at it for a moment, frowning again. "That may not be quite right," he said skeptically. "But it's something like that…azmondi or something. And it's not any Spanish or Quechuan that I recognize." He handed the notebook back and met her eyes. "Deirdre, I wish a thousand things could be different. And for what it's worth, you handle stuff like this really well, all the things you've trained for. You keep calm and focus on the right details." He gave her a wry smile before turning to look back toward the waves. "You sold that school teacher on a football club in less than half an hour. And I know it's not what you want, but I think you could handle any businessman or diplomat the same way."

Deirdre swallowed. "I think we ought to share this with Remus and Professor Snape," she whispered. And without waiting for him to follow she stood from her chair and walked purposefully across the sand to the house. For as much as she'd uncovered details about Gareth, he'd dug up some things about her too. But it wasn't the same, was it? It wasn't like she could slip on a dress like a costume and be the sort of person that discussed things with a diplomat. But didn't you slip on that skirt and chat with a school teacher in a pub? Unsure how to answer her own thoughts, Deirdre hugged the notebook to her more tightly and quickened her steps.