silly, silly girl

Edgar rolled his eyes. He was trying not to be mean! He really had no idea what would please this woman, but he was certain that whatever it was, it wasn’t ever going to be him. Anyway, it was pretty clear that she was the one who enjoyed being mean. Amusement at his misery rolled off her in waves, making him wish desperately that he could simply go home.

She took a seat a few chairs down from him, which he knew was on purpose. The distance wasn’t enough to cause him real discomfort, mostly he could feel a slight tug in his chest that was more of a warning than anything, so he remained where he was. It was something of a relief to know there could be some distance between them. Otherwise it would have made bathroom breaks incredibly awkward.

“Tell me, am I the only person you’re a complete ass to, or do I just bring that out in you?” he shot back, frowning at her. She didn’t know his worst and with any luck, she never would, but she did seem to bring out a side of him that even he didn’t particularly like, another reason he wasn’t overly fond of spending time with her. He had enough reasons to be self-loathing, he didn’t need another.

Looking over the menu, he didn’t find anything on the paper to lift his spirits. All of the food was heavy and greasy, and none of it seemed overly appealing at the moment. With a shrug as he was asked for his order, ignoring Bertha’s impatiens, he simply said, “Just the water is fine for me, thanks.” This earned him a scowl from the bartender, but he could hardly bring himself to care right now.

As the man turned away with their order in hand, Edgar tapped his fingers on the bar, trying to figure out what to do about their current predicament. He really was trying to make things run smoothly, but it was difficult with Bertha’s voice grating at his ears, her words mocking him with every smile. What was her problem?

A question he decided to voice. “What is your problem with me anyway? You mock and ridicule me and then accuse me of being the mean one? I haven’t done a damned thing to deserve it, but you do it anyway. Are you really just that much of an asshole that you get enjoyment out of it? Because we’re not in school anymore, so you should probably think about growing the fuck up.” Alright, so he’d let his mouth run away with him a little towards the end. He’d really only meant to ask her the one question, but it had all come spilling out so suddenly.

Still, he stood his ground, watching Bertha for her reaction and wondering if she would bother to give him a proper answer. He seriously doubted it, she was more likely to turn his words back on him. Merlin’s tits, how he wanted to go home.

Bertha tilted her head to the side when Edgar stayed put, and with a slight pout she realised that the distance she’d put between them wasn’t enough to put any strain on the bond they’d formed. Well, Bertha supposed that there was plenty of time to test it out once they got home.

His accusation made her laugh, loud and traveling above the noise from the pub. “Edgar, is that really what you think I am?” she asked him curiously. “I suppose I could be considered an ass, as you so eloquently put it. I prefer to think of it as honest. And if I’m thinking of it as honest then I suppose I’m like that with everyone.”

That was a slight bend of the truth. Honesty wasn’t something Bertha was familiar with. Sure, she used it when it came to situations like this. Where people expected a lie, and therefore didn’t believe a word she said. The truth was even used if she needed information, and needed it fast. Sometimes the dirty details she could see in other people’s eyes were easier to use that any well crafted lie she could come up with. It also helped her in knowing how people would react in different situations.

But other than that truth was something foreign and almost funny. Truth meant people got close to you, found things to use against you. Bertha’s mother had drilled her since childhood on the importance of not letting people see anything other than a stupid smile and to hide her intelligence so far down she barely remembered she had it. Lately that mask had been slipping, but her mother was dead and couldn’t scold her for it so Bertha supposed it was all right.

She turned around in her seat so that she could properly face him and rested her chin against her palm. It was strange, to see someone so wrapped up in other people’s impression of them. “I don’t have a problem with you, Edgar,” she told him with raised eyebrows. “I don’t particularly think anything of you. You’re easy to read, and that’s saying something coming from silly little me.”

A plate was placed down in front of her, interrupting her, and a pitcher of water in front of Edgar. It was put down a bit too roughly and water swept over the side and trailed down the side of the glass onto the table. Bertha watched in fascination as the worn out wood turned dark. “I like seeing what happens when people are put out of their comfort zones.” That was the truth, though if he appreciated it Bertha didn’t know. She didn’t really care though.

They carried on walking and Fabian considered her questions. What had the war changed? “You just realise that you could die at any time at all, you know? And you realised how many people that would hurt, or how hurt you’d be if your twin died. And then I started… and then my fiancée left me, and I lost my job, and, yeah.” He said, words all starting to run together now. 

Then suddenly he was lying on a bed and all thoughts of the war dissolved and a contented smile settled on his face. “Mmmm, I don’t want to sleep.” He hummed, arching his back and allowing her to take off his shirt. “I don’t think you want to sleep either.” His hands rested on her thighs, fingers teasing their way under the hem of her dress. 

Some part of his brain knew she was right when she said he was going to feel like shit but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He tried to sit up but failed, flopping back down onto the mattress. “I don’t care.” He murmured catching her hand. “Stay with me. Please.” He rolled his body again, wanting to be closer to her, but he didn’t pull her, the hold on her hand a simple request. 

“You know,” He contemplated, head even fuzzier now he was lying down. “I’m really glad you’re not in love with me. I think if we were in love, things would be much worse. I like the way we are. And,you know, I really like it when you pull my hair, tell me what to do. Is that weird?” He yawned and settled into the soft duvet.

Bertha didn’t know what to say. There was a lot Fabian had said, but somehow only one thing stuck. Fiancé? For someone claiming to be highly skilled in gathering secrets about people she’d somehow missed that part. “I’m sure she made a mistake,” Bertha said slowly, voice void of emotion. “Though I can’t say I’m particularly sad. If she hadn’t we wouldn’t have met.” It didn’t matter that it sounded selfish. Fabian wouldn’t remember it in the morning anyway.

Fabian’s suggestive tone made her smile, mostly because the idea of them doing anything at this point was nothing but ridiculous. Still, his hands on her made her shiver. It was an immediate reaction at this point. Her legs spread wider to make room for his touch, but before his hands had managed to get too far she grabbed them to hold them still. “Down boy,” she told him, though the command was obvious.

As he tried to get up Bertha let go of his hand in favour of putting one on his chest, making him stay where he was. “I said down didn’t I?” She stared at the way her hand fit in his, contemplated what he wanted from her at that moment. With her free hand she supported her weight next to his head and gave Fabian a kiss on his forehead. “Stay,” she said firmly. Then she rolled off him and went to take off her clothes in favour of an old t-shirt that probably had been left behind by Fabian once.

Bertha was fighting back again. A twinge of annoyance, coloured with the stirrings of worry, flitted through Igor’s mind. He wasn’t used to people fighting back against the curse. Yes, people sometimes struggled against it initially, but not successfully and not for long. Bertha Jorkins was proving much more strong-minded than he’d predicted.

He could hear the word she spoke more in her mind than the sound of it escaping her lips and knew he was losing her. Help. She was gaining control back, clawing up from the depths of the Imperius. He was running out of time.

“Listen to her!” a witch in the crowd shouted. “I think she’s Imperiused! She’s calling for help!”

“It’s a trick!” yelled someone else.

“No, no, she is!”

“Stop her!”

The crowd was fighting amongst itself as much as against the Imperiused witch now, roiling with panic. Someone fired another Stunning spell at Bertha, but it went wide and hit someone else, a tiny wizard whose willowy wife immediately roared in fury and brandished her own wand in the direction of the spell’s origin. Soon a fresh flurry of spells was storming through the crowd.

Bertha, meanwhile, was safe behind a Shield charm, the invisibility of the spell almost rendered moot by the light of all the magic rebounding off of it. Igor felt the Imperius weakening further and realized with a wave of fury that she was using the defence as a chance to fight the curse. He tried to strengthen the Imperius, but the connection was growing strained, the effort of maintaining it beginning to run ragged.

Stop fighting me! he snapped in her mind. Just do as you are told!

There were several snaps of Apparation and a trio of newcomers arrived on the street, wands at the ready. Aurors, thought Igor. Or something of the like. He drew further back into the shadows.

Relief mixed in with fear entered Bertha’s mind as the people around her began to understand the situation at hand. Even though the curse was still too strong for her to actually break free, or even nod in affirmation, she felt as if things might be alright. Yes, she said, though she didn’t know if it was in her head or out loud. Help. The crowd, still fighting her and everyone that didn’t share their opinions, would figure out a way.

The voice in her head disagreed. He was angry now, hitting her like tail of a whip. It left an impression inside her that felt deeper than it should’ve. As if the words were simply burying themselves deeper into a dent that had already been made. Bertha wondered what had made the words resonate so deeply. What part of her instinctively reacted to the words, obeying as if they were second nature.

Her wand wavered.

Several things happened at once. Somehow she traveled in slow motion. First, the shield she’d put up disappeared, and a hex hit her straight in the chest. She was jerked back, and a loud groan escaped her as her head hit the brick wall behind her. The grip on her wand tightened and she raised it once more to defend herself, still delirious with pain. Second, a murmur spread through the crowd and it thinned out, and through the hems of their robes she could see a new group of people approaching. Everything registered within seconds.

Everything sped to its normal pace and suddenly Bertha could hear the words echoing inside her once more. The hit to her head had been enough for them to secure themselves. Her mind registered the threat in front of her. Saw the long robes and raised wands and within moments she was on her feet, ready to attack. 

Narcissa contemplated Bertha’s comments for a few moments. In a saddening way, she was right.  The only news that would remain constant, even increase in a time of war, would be death.  No one could escape its clutches, just as surely as no one could escape the ravages of time.  The only two things that were assured in life: the passage of time and death.  Whether or not it came as a painful strike or a peaceful embrace remained to be seen.  Humming quietly, Narcissa ran her finger absently along the gilded rim of her teacup.  “Only you would be bored by a war,” she said finally, a small smile making its way on to her face.  

Bertha’s words struck a chord in Narcissa, her jaw clenching as her mouth dried.  The idea of lying again to Lucius made her stomach turn. She’d nearly torn apart her marriage once; she wasn’t about to do it again.  “I…” she paused, attempting to find the right words to say.  With anyone else, it would be easy, all assurances and smiles and nods but with Bertha it was something else - something purer, more candid.  Bertha had always seen the parts of Narcissa that she’d wanted to hide away and pretend didn’t exist.  “I won’t lie to my husband.  Not again.  Not… anymore.”

Her words were sharper than intended, resolute in their hardness.  Her eyes shone with the same determination that they had years ago when she’d been just a girl, eager to learn the arts her mother had refused to teach.  Bertha’s own dug into her skin. No place for a soft soul.  It was true and she knew it; she’d always been soft even though she tried to grow a new diamond hard skin atop the girl who was terrified of being alone.  

“War has a funny way of limiting one’s choices,” she said dryly, her voice quiet.  “Honestly hardly befits either of us, and yet…” she trailed off, eyeing Bertha over her finished tea, half a chuckle dying on her lips.  With a sigh, Narcissa let silence fill the room for some time.  She was becoming painfully aware of the smell of the soot on her, the stains in her clothes and the dirt under her nails…  

Clearing her throat, she placed her teacup back on the saucer, the small clink of the china bridging the silence.  “If you’d like to clean up, you’re welcome to.  I suspect I’m going to do the same.  I should have some clothes that would fit you or I could have the elves fetch something from the store quickly.  Whichever you prefer.”

Bertha was intrigued by Narcissa’s reactions to whatever she was saying. She always had been. At one point it had been almost like an obsession, to see the young girl swallow everything she said without thinking twice. For a few seconds she wondered if people ever changed. The two of them surely fell into old patterns without a second thought. “I’m sure a lot of people are,” she said with a shrug. “They just don’t like to admit it. Makes them think they’re ugly.” Bertha didn’t particularly care what others thought of her. It made things easier, but didn’t leave her well liked. Bertha didn’t really care about that either.

Bertha ignored the sharpness of Narcissa’s words and pressed on, just as she always had. It was funny, the way the witch in front of her could rub her the wrong way easier than anyone. “Narcissa I think you should be most concerned with the lies you tell yourself. I know it’s hard, you’ve been doing it for a long time.” She could’ve been brilliant, Bertha thought sourly to herself. But, unlike Bertha herself, Narcissa lived and breathed for other people’s opinions.

The mood had shifted, somehow, even though it hadn’t been particularly friendly before. Bertha let her fingers trail over the rim of her glass, now that there was only a few drops left it seemed almost unnecessary to try and force a conversation. Narcissa seemed to share her opinion, because all of a sudden she turned into the good hostess Bertha never had had the displeasure of knowing.

“Oh, I enjoy myself plenty. Just not when you’re around. Funny that,” Edgar shot back at Bertha, a little peeved that she was trying to tell him to lighten up while at the same time making fun of him. Being close to her felt like torture, but so did being apart.

At the moment he was starting to miss the ache that came when they were separated as the woman got suddenly offended by his offer to make dinner. His one attempt at pleasantries had been thrown back in his face with a scowl and false accusations. Well, mostly false. Edgar did think fairly low of her, but not for any cooking related reason - he wasn’t even sure what had caused her to think that. No, the way she treated suffering like a show for her own amusement was what made him think poorly of her. Which really had nothing to do with his offer of food.

He was prepared to snap a response to her disapproval, but she was quickly changing the subject back to lunch. “Yeah, the Leaky Cauldron is fine,” he grumbled, biting back his retort. He had to continue to remind himself to try and be civil. If they were going to spend the night together he couldn’t go picking fights with everything. Though, it would be the last attempt at being nice. Not if being nice was just going to be met with suspicion and accusations.

Edgar eyed their options for transportation warily. He always enjoyed floo when he could take it - a lot less recently, since he’d cut off his own fireplace from the floo network. But he had to agree with Bertha, it would probably be better if they side-along apparated together. Floo be awful to travel with another full grown adult and he wasn’t sure his heart would be able to handle it if they went separately, even for a second. The distance was too grand. Actually, Edgar wasn’t even sure whether this potion could kill him. It had certainly felt as though his heart was about to explode.

That thought solidified the idea of apparition. Grabbing Bertha’s arm, being sure to be gentle so he couldn’t get yelled at for that as well, he made his way to the apparition ports and wasted no time in muttering a quiet, “Alright, let’s go,” as a warning before apparating to the Leaky Cauldron.

Once they were there, he immediately let go of the witch and moved to the bar where he took up a stool and slumped forward in his seat with a huff. The expansive selection of alcohol behind the bartender was looking very alluring at the moment, but he even Bertha wasn’t enough to push him that far … yet.

“What food do they even have here?” he asked instead, staring gloomily over the bar in search of a menu. He wasn’t particularly hungry and tended to dislike pub food anyway, but for the sake of his own sanity he tried to bring up a subject of conversation that would end in teasing or ridicule. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten here before.”

There wasn’t much to do besides following Edgar as he pulled her across the floor and she barely had enough time to wrap an arm around his waist before he apparated. It was such an incredible display of his feelings for her that Bertha couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It still echoed as they appeared in the middle of the pub and Bertha shook her head in amusement as Edgar let go of her as if she was contagious.

“I think you enjoy being mean, Bones,” she said and trailed her hand across his back, before she sat down a few seats from him. There was a curiosity inside her that wanted to see how close he’d have to be to not be in pain. “I have to ask, do I bring out the worst in you? Is all of this just for me? Or do you always feel it, but hide it deep down?”

She grabbed a menu and trailed her fingers over the different dishes. “It’s adequate,” she replied, and tapped over the fish and chips thoughtfully. “Nothing to bring home to your wife when you’ve promised her a great meal, but enough for lunch.”

After having made up her mind she slid it over to Edgar and waited for him to make up his mind. she tapped out a rhythm onto the worn counter and watched the other patrons that filled the pub at this hour. Mostly drunks gathering in a loud bunch and a few unfortunate families stopping by for a quick meal. “You done?” she asked and turned her attention back to Bones. “Or are you planning on staying here all day? I thought you had work to do.”

Igor could sense the doubt that trickled into Bertha’s mind, growing slowly stronger. It was a strange, uncomfortable sensation. It wasn’t so much that he could feel the emotion itself, but instead the strain it put on the curse he was maintaining. The witch had a strong mind and if the overwhelming calmness of the Imperius was broken, then it might only be a matter of time before the curse itself broke, too.

Igor sent a fresh wave of his own willpower through the connection of the curse, wanting to stamp out that doubt in the witch’s mind before it could dig its claws in. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Don’t think, just act. Strike out against these people trying to stop you. They don’t want you to be free. Fight back against them. Hurt them before they can hurt you.

And they would hurt her. Despite the fact that one of the onlookers had rightly raised the question of Bertha being Imperiused, no one was taking that as a reason to back down from her. As more people were struck down by Bertha’s wand, the crowd was growing angrier, their calls for action more vicious.

“Stun her!”

“Get her!”

“She’s gonna kill someone! Get her first!”

Someone shouted the incantation for a Stinging hex. Someone else sent another Stunner at her, which missed and struck a middle-aged witch with long red hair, who collapsed in a heap. Spells were soon flying in all directions, as chaotic as the screams and angry shouting. The golden beam of a hex struck the brick wall just a few feet from where Igor stood and he flinched silently. It had been his orders to create a panic, which he was certainly succeeding at.

He heard the snap of Apparation; someone had fled the scene magically. There was the chance that they were simply escaping the danger, but also the possibility that they might be going for help. If Aurors arrived, he couldn’t guarantee that his Disillusionment spell would be enough to evade notice. He was running out of time.

So too was Bertha, if things continued as they were: the crowd was closing in around her. No one wanted to get too close to her, but when you had a magic wand in your hand, you didn’t have to. Another flurry of hexes and curses were flung Bertha’s way. Defend yourself! Igor ordered her. Hurt them back. Don’t stop until they leave you alone.

Once again she was floating. Bertha didn’t realise why she’d stopped the first time, she wanted to sink into this feeling forever. She didn’t even remember why she’d been so worried before. All she knew was to listen to the voice telling her, You’re fine.

Bertha had to agree. The words sounded reasonable. I’m fine. I’m fine, I need to do this. If I do this I’ll be free. She cursed another wizard running toward her and a stray thought entered her mind. Free from what? The thought disrupted her movements and she barely had time to raise a protective shield as someone tried to sting her with a nasty hex. 

Once more she realised what was happening, felt the sick sense of deja vu as she saw her hand raise without her permission and heard the words her lips uttered and the blood erupting from the man as she did so. Some of it landed on her face and the warmth of it made something like panic bubble up in the back of her throat.

“Help,” she whispered and hated the quiver she could hear in her voice. A stunner missed her by an inch and Bertha realised that they were going to keep attacking her until she went down. “Help.” The plea was louder that time, and she thought she could see a questioning look from a witch a few feet away. She must look crazy, covered in someone else’s blood, asking for help when she was the one that was dangerous.

Bertha wanted to just open the hand clutching her wand, to let it fall to the ground and get lost in the crowd. But it was firmly gripped and not budging, even though she could see the slight tremors that hadn’t been there before. She could fight this.

As his conversation with Laurent ended Bertha piped up only long enough to tell the other man to send the information about the cure to her department. Edgar frowned at her before turning to the potioneer. “You should probably send it my way, rather,” he told him. “Since it directly affects me and I’m a little more knowledgeable on how this potion works.”

Laurent glanced between them, clearly not missing the tension, but ultimately nodded at Edgar. “I’ll let you both know what’s going on.”

It was the most Edgar could really ask for, but he was glad that Bertha wouldn’t be the only one receiving the information. That would only grant her more power over him and he didn’t feel like being completely at her mercy.

When Bertha suggested they go to lunch, Edgar glared at her. He needed to let his boss know what was happening and he hadn’t planned on skipping out of work for the rest of the day. Christmas was approaching, he had a family to feed, and any paid leave he’d been able to take had been used up by the various hospital stays over the past year. He needed the money, but he didn’t think he’d be able to complete a full day of work now.

Sighing, he gestured for Bertha to lead the way out of the lab. “Surprisingly, I’m not very hungry,” he told her. “It doesn’t matter to me where we go for lunch.” While they walked, Edgar pulled a bit of parchment and a quill from his pocket, scribbling a quick note before sending it on its way.

As long as he was going to be forced to follow this horrible witch around, he might as well make it as easy as possible. Though he hated the idea of allowing her to run his life, he was too weary to bother fighting it. He just had to focus on tomorrow and hope that Laurent found the cure as soon as possible.

He groaned when Bertha brought up his wife, sounding absolutely gleeful as she did so. It didn’t make sense to him why she enjoyed watching him suffer so much. She didn’t even care when he was literally suffering, it made him want to scream at her for being such a terrible person, but he doubted that would get more than a laugh out of her.

“I’ll send her a message,” he told her shortly, not bothering to rise to the bait and express just how terrified he was of the idea. “She’ll have to come drop a few things off at your place, so maybe try not to be a complete ass if she does.” He wasn’t so worried about himself as he was more so for Bertha. Rommie would not treat either of them kindly for this, but she’d at least pull her punches for him. 

“Should I be grabbing some food for myself for supper, then? I can cook dinner for us both if you have the food.” The offer made him wince, he hated the idea of making anything for the awful woman, but perhaps forced pleasantries might make the day a little easier.

Bertha waved away whatever complaint he sent her way and kept walking. “You know, your outlook on life is pretty terrible. What’s so wrong with just enjoying yourself every so often.” She threw a glance over her shoulder and watched him scribble something on a piece of paper before sending it on its way. There was no knowing who it was for, but Bertha wasn’t in a hurry, she was sure he’d reveal who it was for sooner or later.

“She’ll be anticipated then,” Bertha replied, wondering slightly how the wife of fragile Edgar Bones would be. Surely there couldn’t be more of the same, it would be too tragic to look at. “And don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior. An angel, or something like it.” For some reason she had the feeling she wouldn’t be the one to worry about.

The kind basis of his offer was only ruined with the regretful look on his face seconds after he’d said it. For a moment Bertha was annoyed, and pride told her she’d never accept anything from him. The fact that he thought she was poor and unresourceful was almost an even bigger insult.

“Do you really think so low of me, Bones?” Bertha asked curiously. Before he had time to reply, an obvious answer, she kept going. “Don’t answer that, you’re too easy to read that it would only be offensive if you tried to lie. And to answer your question,” she continued even faster, “I have a house elf, and she’ll obviously be making dinner.”

“The Leaky Cauldron would suffice, would it not?” Bertha asked, not really expecting an answer. “The food is adequate at best, but I’m not that picky.” She glanced at him as they walked and wondered what was going through his head. A few colourful insults about her, surely, as well as worry. It wouldn’t be surprising, seeing as Edgar’s mind was almost nauseatingly simple; love and family his most important goals.

“Yes, stick to me.” He nodded heartily, head flopping about without much control. If he had been more alert, he might have been aware of Bertha’s discomfort, felt her stiffen, heard the ever so slight strain in her voice, maybe even just sensed the unease. Generally, he was quite good at reading people, especially physically, he was a very tactile person. However, in his current state, he was oblivious to the nuances of Bertha’s behaviour, of anything really. As it was, he was having trouble just keeping his eyes open and controlling his limbs. It was bliss. 

He frowned slightly at the word ‘impossible’. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, and if he hadn’t been so numb, it might have stung a little more, but his mind glazed over the feeling pretty quickly. There were worse things she could think about him. 

“A story,” He contemplated, speech long and drawn out. He responded to the tug of her arm around his waist by attempting to stand. Without her support he probably would have fallen, but he managed to get to his feet unsteadily. “Hmmmm,” He thought, as they started to walk. Fairly practiced at the art of walking, he managed with her help, to step where she was leading him. 

“Have I ever told you I’m afraid of thunder?” He asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “Well once, when we were little, there was a big thunderstorm, and Gid knew I would be terrified, so he crept out of his bed and came into my room. Our parents tried to keep us separate, independent or something, it never really worked, we’d just sneak into each other’s rooms when our parents were asleep. We did it at Hogwarts too, not so much anymore… only when something bad happens…” He paused for a moment and then carried on. 

“Well anyway, Gid had stolen our dad’s wand, and he was going to charm the thunder away for me, and I was 5 years old and crying so hard because of the storm, but I followed my brother out into the garden anyway, but I trusted him so entirely. And Gid pointed the wand in the sky, and I can’t even remember what spell he tried to cast, but obviously it didn’t work, and instead he set out dad’s prize rose bushes on fire. The only logical solution to this was obviously to get the very expensive rug from the living room and try to smother the fire. That didn’t work either and by the time the rug was burning too, our parents were awake and so angry and scared. We were grounded for a month after that. But you know I thought I’d never be that scared ever again, and so with the subconscious knowledge that I’d experienced the worst, I jumped into everything afterward without too much fear, and that seemed to work pretty well until the war, now I don’t know.” He stopped, hoping they’d reached their destination already. He’d nearly forgotten all about that memory. If he hadn’t been so high on the pain potion, he probably would not have spilled his soul like that at all, even to Bertha. Especially to Bertha. 

Bertha listened intently as Fabian told her the story of him and Gideon as children. There it was again, the bond between the two of them Bertha knew that she would never be able to break. And, if she tried, she was sure that Fabian would never forgive her. No matter how much she twisted and turned the situation around whatever he felt for her would be broken. But the twins weren’t close anymore, at least not like in the story Fabian had just told her. That might just be useful in the future. Bertha knew that Fabian was living in constant fear of disappointing... well, anyone, but most of all his family. The idea that he might let one of them down would destroy him.

“What changed after the war started?” Bertha asked, generally curious. There hadn’t been an immediate change in her, apart from the slight incident a few months ago, and she didn’t know what could’ve changed in Fabian. And, if it had, what was it that had changed him? How had he been before?

They stopped in front of Bertha’s bed and when Bertha realised that Fabian was too out of it to realise, she pushed him onto the soft mattress. Even though he was injured she climbed up his body and straddled his waist. With slow movements she slid her fingers in underneath the fabric of his shirt and pushed it over his shoulders. “I think it’s time for you to sleep.”