#glockhart

Romana turned her attention from the shop window to the person addressing her, looking her up and down with a slightly critical eye. 

“Yes, I am. And you are?” she asked, Marie’s initial question completely ignored. She felt like she knew this person, that they seemed familiar, but for the life of her, Romana couldn’t place them.

Barty stood outside Gilderoy's study with his forehead pressed against the door. Breathe, he reminded himself. You can do this. There would be no running away this time, not for him and certainly not for his husband. They were finally alone together in the house and Barty was tired - beyond it, actually - of Gilderoy avoiding him like the damned plague. They needed to talk about what happened, although with the amount of anger boiling inside the Time Lord it was more likely they were going to yell about it. Or rather, Barty was going to yell and Gilderoy was going to sit there and take it. Things needed to be said and Gilderoy needed to hear it, whether he liked it or not. He was not going to be denied any longer.

With one last, deep breath, Barty squared his shoulders and headed into the room. "I can't take it anymore," he blurted, getting right into it and cutting Gilderoy off before he could even think to speak. "I can't! I have held my tongue this long so as not to upset the others living under our roof, but we are alone now. We are alone and you are going to stop this nonsense and listen to me, do you understand? And don't you dare get out of that chair!" Barty had barely begun and already his face had turned scarlet with anger, his hands coming down upon Gilderoy’s desk with such force that even the floor underneath it shook from the vibrations. He regretted it instantly, what with the one hand so badly injured, but he didn’t let it show on his face.

Oh, was that Sam changing the topic? Perhaps he was one of those parents were all they could talk about was their children… He tried again. “Yeah, he does! The kids love him. Are you enjoying it here too? The kids aren’t too rowdy, are they?” He’d wanted to suggest them grabbing a cup of tea, but that seemed far too formal.

“I’m not that old! I don’t need glasses just yet!” Gilderoy gasped and touched his chest, mortally wounded. Nothing quite got him quite like slights against his looks and age, even if it wasn’t intended. “And I wouldn’t say that to just anyone, you really do! I had better hair of course. I could help you with that if you want.”