Not Anything

“Like hell you’ve kept your word. I’m no closer to finding out who killed Natalia than I was the last time we spoke. You know something, Belova. Tell me what it is before things get ugly.”

His head tilted to the side as he looked at her face, unable to help the large roll of his eyes before sighing and getting to his feet. “You’re starting to piss me off again, Lenochka. Look at me when I talk to you.”

His eyes looked first to the hand approaching his face before alighting his gaze to all the bruising he finally took note of as the remaining brain fog lifted. “Badgering me ain’t going to make the answer come any faster,” James snapped, leaning back from her touch as his eyes moved to look elsewhere, not that he really saw anything. He was trying to remember anything past the first few bites of food he’d eaten after putting Mila down; he didn’t even remember asking Yelena a question about Natasha at all. Looking again to the blonde’s arm, he could briefly, but vividly recall fracturing her ulna, but that was all.

“I can’t remember,” he muttered, the uncharacteristic distress just making itself notable in the further tensing of his body language. “How could you have been so weak, Lenochka? All your bravado and you couldn’t stop me taking her?”

She wanted to slap him across the face but she also didn’t want to deal with his shit anymore. She didn’t want to deal with him being angry and coming after her and hurting her. There was so much hurt. It wasn’t so bad before, he’d have episodes and maybe scare her, or even grab her by the throat but that she could deal with. She dealt with that in their line of work regardless but breaking bones and the level of shit she’d taken from him was just too much. She got up and stepped away from him.

It was extremely telling of how shocking the words were to him that his more-oft than not stoic features practically crumpled into a frown of confusion, the slightest and most deeply hidden feel of panic attempting to make itself known on top of it.

“What the hell are you talking about? She’s at home. I put her down for a nap. You saw me do it, so get me the hell out of these restraints.” Even as he said the words, however, James was silently putting more work into trying to stubborn BLOCK in his mind that always followed an episode – and that alone should have told him the likelihood of causing their child harm, but he was in denial of such a fact. He simply refused to believe he had hurt Mila.

“’Cause I’m a mudblood, right?” Excepting his tone and the slight pursing of lips, nothing of Mason’s demeanour had an outward change as he continued to look down at Yelena. Part of him knew the assumption that the blonde was like the more outspoken and proud members of her former House ( and likely even her social circle ) was an unfair one; after all, the War was over. Voldemort and a good portion of his lot were dead or imprisoned, but that didn’t stop prejudiced ways of thinking by a good portion of what remained of pureblood families.

It wasn’t until he finally noticed the slight flirtation hidden in her expression that Mason finally reacted by grimacing and lightly shifting on his feet, blue-grey eyes looking away from the pretty witch. Damned if he didn’t feel as dumb as a pile of rocks.

“Sorry. I’m sure that isn’t what you meant,” he hoped that truly wasn’t what she’d been trying to imply. “Yeah, I am workin’ tonight. Boss wanted to teach me a lesson in patience and observance. – It was this or being sent to bumfuck nowhere Sweden.”

Yelena worked not to sneer as he brought up his blood status. "Well I guess I know what kind thoughts you have about me," she all but hissed at him. She looked around the room, anywhere but to him. "My best friend is a half-blood, I'll have you know. And she is the most loyal and genuine person I know. I was once a stupid kid repeating my parents anti-muggle sentiment, but grow the hell up, Beasley." She huffed, still not looking to him, she was pouting.

"You don't know a damn thing about me. You don't know what I've been through. Lump me in with that crowd again and I'll boogie bat hex you in public." Finally her eye returned to him with a proud and fierce fire in them. He didn't, couldn't, and she had half a mind to hex him anyway. But that wasn't going to help, and her shoulders were sagging now. She thought maybe things could feel normal, not hiding behind her mohagony counter.

“I’ve heard of Mutants with gifts like yours but you,” she said, pausing as she thought on her words, “You are something else, it isn’t just conscious, it’s reactionary. Even Mystic...”