5 1/2 Temple Meadow - Immortal | Rossian

Sunday, June 11, 1922
9:00 AM
<3

"Cassian, breakfast!"

Rosie stood at the bottom of the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron while she waited to hear the sound of his bedroom door creak open. As the kitchen timer went off, she hurried back to the stove, offering a quick good morning to Julian as he sat himself at the table.

The scent of sausages, eggs and fried bread filled the kitchen as Rosie worked to ignore the pain in her stomach and the way her hands trembled as she plated Cassian's food. It was only a little hunger, she told herself, and everyone felt a little lightheaded in the morning sometimes.

While she'd been sleeping better in the last week, her eating habits had dwindled to nothing, her excuses becoming harder and harder to come up with, and she knew that the family was beginning to take notice.

She couldn't help it. There was no part of her, save her stomach, that wanted to eat. Every time a plate was placed in front of her, she felt sick. Every time a morsel passed between her lips, she wanted to throw up. Her body weakening every day and the fatigue that took hold weren't enough to dissuade her, though what her end goal was, she wasn't sure.

Even her thoughts didn't make sense anymore. The fog that was taking hold had washed out most of the thoughts that had plagued her, and while it had taken the more sensible ones too, Rosalie took it as a small blessing.

If she couldn't think, she couldn't worry. And all she had done since that night was worry. About Cassian, about herself, about his parents.

It was never ending.

Rosalie leaned into his hug when Cassian wandered into the kitchen, taking the plate she'd arranged for him. "Extra butter on your toast," she smiled, and nudged him towards the table as Kari set the teapot in front of Julian.

When they'd all sat she hurried to untie her apron and took her seat beside Cass. "I get to start work tomorrow," she said lightly as she poured her tea, wiping the table quickly when her shaky hands spilled a bit. "They said I could start as a waitress and maybe move up to behind the counter if I do well."

The Silver Cork didn't hire often, and considering Diagon Alley was a quick trip from the backyard alley, she considered herself fortunate to have been offered a position. Levitating her trays rather than having to balance all of them would certainly make things easier.

"Cassian, breakfast!"

He didn't need to be told twice. The boy bounded down the staircases with a small spring in his step, swivelling to the kitchen when he got to the bottom. The smells of the morning's meal greeted him before he'd gotten there, and where it might have had his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering, that morning Cassian was distracted.

He wrapped an arm around her when she approached with his plate, dropping a quick kiss atop her head. Ever since his return from France, the boy hadn't been able to keep his hands off his wife for too long. Whether twirling his fingers in her hair, pulling her onto his lap when they shared the couch, stealing nights his parents didn't know about or fleeting touches as they passed each other in the house. His poor mother, for the life of herself, couldn't understand how his 'reckless' disappearance had brought them closer instead of leaving Rosie with a sort of righteous indignation.

It was better she be confused. It absolved the pair of the secret they share without either having ever uttered a word in reference to keeping it. There had been no big discussion about what they would do or if they would tell anyone else. There was simply an unspoken agreement that what was done was necessary and that they would keep it between them.

With that came his need to be close to her in whatever way he could. Rosie had become one of the few ways he could regulate himself, and while he was...aware that it wasn't the healthiest, he didn't know what else to do.

"Extra butter on your toast."

All he managed was a 'thanks' before she was ushering him into the dining room, where his parents sat waiting to begin breakfast.

He flopped into his chair, Rosie settling next to him after...without her own plate of food. He hadn't noticed it at first. Slippery as his wife was and given how busy his mother had ensured he became, it was easy for her to smile and tell him that she'd already grabbed something without him. His mother was anything but a homebody and often found a reason to be out. His father worked. There was never a constant enough pair of eyes on her to notice what he was beginning to suspect.

Her hands shook. The tea spilled. Cassian's mother rushed to help her clean it, but he sat there staring.

She was getting thinner. It was difficult to see for the average, untrained eye with its limited access, but Cassian had deeper access. Her wrists were getting thinner, the bones at her hips more pronounced. She spoke about starting work when she could barely hold a kettle of tea, and he'd seen her have to slow down when her head appeared to spin.

"They said I could start as a waitress and maybe move up to behind the counter if I do well."

"You forgot your plate back in the kitchen." In case she thought he hadn't noticed. His tone was quiet and even. Cass wouldn't be entertaining talks of work until they got this sorted. "Lemme go get it for you. We don't mind waiting."

He rose before she could stop him, unsurprised to return to the kitchen to find no extra plate waiting there at all. Cassian collected the sole remaining sausage and what was left of the eggs. No bread; no matter. Returning to the table, he dropped one of his slices onto the plate and then set it before her.

Then he waited.

"You forgot your plate back in the kitchen."

The table grew quiet, no one acknowledging Rosie’s attempt at sharing what she felt was good news and a step towards normalcy again. She dropped her gaze to her teacup, the small smile she had worn with her announcement now frozen uncomfortably on her lips.

Rosalie knew her body was changing. Where a round little belly should be growing, her ribs now showed too clearly through her skin. Where her face should be filling out a little, her cheeks had grown gaunt and circles were forming beneath her eyes. Powder and blush helped to cover it, but there was no denying how her once athletic frame was now withering to skin and bones.

Perhaps the most frightening part of it all was how she didn’t care. When she saw herself in the mirror, it made no difference in her determination to not eat. It had nothing to do with her sense of image, though Gretchen had done well to fuck with her head in that aspect too.

No, Rosalie didn’t know what this was about, other than the desperation to somehow disappear.

"Lemme go get it for you. We don't mind waiting."

She didn’t argue, but continued staring quietly at her cup, stirring it idly until Cassian returned. He set a plate down in front of her, her eyes registering the sausage, eggs and toast she’d made him, but made no effort to partake. Her stomach turned over in a sickening way, her throat closing in on itself, as though her body had already learned that food was the enemy.

“Rosie, you alright?”

Julian’s concern came louder than the looks from Kari and Cassian and she quickly looked up, brightening her smile and giving an easy nod. “Fine.” She was, really. No one needed to look as worried or confused as they did. She was alive, talking, engaging. Everything was fine.

She glanced sideways at Cassian, understanding what he was doing, but feeling annoyed all the same. If he was worried, he could have just asked her privately what was going on, but now he was putting her on the spot in front of his parents. The food on her plate taunted her, the smell of the sausages causing an internal recoiling that she fought to hide.

“So as I was saying,” as she brought her tea to her lips, the only thing she had been able to swallow recently, “once I get behind the counter and start with bar work, that’s when I’ll really start making some good money.”

She needed it, if only to feel like she was contributing to the household and not burdening Julian with another mouth to feed. It didn’t matter to her whether Cassian was rushing back into the workforce or not. When her tips started coming in, she’d have enough for both of them to go out and enjoy a date night now and then, or go shopping for new clothes or…

Her stomach turned over again. “I totally forgot.” She stood up, grabbing the plate Cassian had set in front of her. “I meant to start the bread this morning. If I don’t get the yeast foaming now, the bread won’t be done until after supper.”

Cassian couldn't stop looking at her. The boy was entranced, but not for any reason he'd ever been before when it came to Rosalie.

He'd seen this act before, and he knew the shape of diversion intimately. Years in the theatre, captivating audiences, had taught him the art of redirection and of placing attention where the actor wanted it to go. Rosie had carved a stage for herself there at the breakfast table and, until he'd said something about it, had managed to enchant the remainder of her audience. His father, overworked as he often was, didn't pay attention to the day-to-day so much. His mother, while a newly discovered fusser, had a lot to deal with in a day and no prior history with how delicate things could be between his wife and food.

It had always been there, lurking in the shadows. A grin while she pulled him from his own breakfast, her pecking around his plate while completely ignoring her own. It had just never been so bad. Cass wanted to believe it would improve with things settling down, but she was only getting worse.

“So as I was saying, once I get behind the counter and start with bar work, that’s when I’ll really start making some good money.”

He didn't hear a word of it. Cassian couldn't reconcile the girl who starved herself skinny, beaming about work he doubted she would be able to do when her energy had fallen so low in the last week alone. How would she handle entire shifts? How would she keep the orders straight? How would she keep herself upright? He doubted she thought it through before doing whatever she was doing. Even this...this not eating. He hadn't thought it was on purpose at first. She was always a little fussy, but watching her now...watching the way she deflected, Cass could only accept that she could see for herself it was hurting her...but wasn't prepared to stop.

That left it to him.

“I totally forgot. I meant to start the bread this morning. If I don’t get the yeast foaming now, the bread won’t be done until after supper.”

His blood went cold.

Time slowed.

Cassian watched her muscles twitch into action as she set to run. The moment Rosie stood, he reached out and took hold of her arm. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to make it clear she wouldn't be walking away without turning it into a proper scene. There was no need for all that. She'd already assured his parents that she was fine, but both adults had no difficulty picking up on the rising tension at the table.

"We'll have something else for lunch if it's not ready," he said gently, tugging her in encouragement for her to sit.

"Maybe we'll go out for lunch. Check out the place you'll be working at."

Whatever they did, it didn't require her to get up.

His next word came in a whisper. "Eat."

His hand held fast to her arm, stopping her in her tracks. It wasn’t often Cassian was physically forceful with her, and she could count on her hand the number of times it had happened before. She froze, her body going rigid as she stared at his hand, before blue eyes slowly rose to meet his now piercing brown.

She could see the worry and fear in his expression, could hear the strain in his voice, even as his words came gently. He tugged on her arm, his offer to take her to lunch so she wouldn’t fuss with the bread and obvious poked hole in her excuse to leave the table.

Rosalie didn’t answer. She wasn’t interested in going out for lunch, much less at the Silver Cork. She wasn’t interested in continuing to sit at a table where her every movement was being observed, but what choice did she have?

It wasn’t like her to make a scene, and she wouldn’t anyway. Cassian was her husband, and if he wanted her to sit, then she would listen. Obediently, she took her seat again, setting the plate back down in front of her, as she pointedly avoided the confused looks from his parents.

“Eat.”

She reached for her teacup again, remaining silent without anything else to add to the conversation she’d tried to start. His whisper caused a quickening in her chest and all at once, Rosie felt a deep humiliation wash over her.

She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to sit here and force food into her mouth that she wouldn’t be able to swallow. She didn’t want to sit quietly and pick around her plate while the three of them watched her and judged the way she did it. She wanted to retreat back to the kitchen where she could just focus on the dishes that needed to be washed and the bread that needed to be started.

“Please stop,” her own whisper came as her shaky hands brought her cup back to her lips. Her eyes remained on the table, memorizing each groove and imperfection in the old oak table. An effort to not look Cassian - or his parents - in the eye and feel the weight of their disapproval.

“Please stop.”

How could he?

Cass could see she was uncomfortable. He watched her fold in on herself the way she sometimes did, shying away from the attention that now found her. The boy didn't notice the attention in the same way. His parents, with their unease and looks of concern, were nothing more than decorative pieces that occasionally moved in his peripheral vision. All he could see was his wife withering while she asked him to look away.

Each reaction cemented for him just how serious the situation was. She didn't brush him off with a smile; she didn't cheekily tell him he was overreacting. There was no light in her eyes that might suggest he really didn't have to take her condition as seriously as he now was.

So he would.

Cassian thought to press as she lifted the cup to her lips, but he caught a look from his mother out the corner of his eye and forced his mouth shut. The conversation wasn't over, in case Rosalie thought it was, but he was willing to put a stop on it for the moment. As far as he was concerned, he'd already seen enough to know it couldn't continue, and while he certainly wasn't trying to embarrass her, he was prepared to take matters into his own hands.

She could consider herself on notice.

---

Friday, June 16, 1922
7PM

He waited for her in her room.

When the week started, both had been whisked off to their new jobs. Rosie was pleased to be leaving the house and on her way to making money while she fell apart. She wanted to be out in the world again, where the same four walls couldn't remind her of what they'd endured and everything she'd lost. That she only seemed weaker every evening that she returned home didn't seem to bother her.

His parents were adamant that he be equally occupied. After his little disappearing act, his father had secured him a position he didn't ask for at the ministry. Something about the devil and idle hands. It was inside the Minister's Office--an assistant who drafted documents and filed until his brain went numb. The boy was meant to be grateful, of course. After all, 'if he worked hard enough' and 'just applied himself', he could move up the ranks and 'really make a name for himself' among some of 'the most influential men in Britain'.

If he never heard that speech again, it would still be too soon.

Every morning that his father rose, beaming with pride as they both walked through the Atrium, drove another nail into the boy's back. It wasn't a hot, sweaty factory with men screaming a language he struggled to grasp, and he wasn't lifting heavy boxes from the moment he arrived until he was ready to leave. That should've been enough to make it better, but it was its own suffocating torture.

Each day he sat at his desk, he felt his soul tearing off another piece of itself. It'd only been a week.

Fuck.

Compounding that was the worry he never let go of for his wife. Things weren't as strained as they'd been in Allonnes. They weren't ships passing in the night until the weekend, but Rosie had quickly found that leaving the house for hours, with no one else there to witness, made it infinitely harder for him to prove she hadn't been eating while she was out.

At the end of the day when everyone got home, his mother had dinner ready. Rosie, sweet, stubborn girl, would smile and say she'd been given a meal before leaving the cafe. Sometimes she'd have tea to participate in the meal, and none could say it wasn't true.

He didn't care whether he knew it was true. He was ready to call bullshit.

Cassian sank onto Justine's old bed and waited for her to be home.

He stopped.

Silent relief flooded through her as she finally allowed the tea to pass through her lips, the bitterness of black tea leaves mixed with the sweetness of honey settling her stomach almost instantly. In the moments when her hunger became too overwhelming, or her nausea took too strong a hold of her, tea always seemed to be the remedy that could calm it down.

While she continued staring down at the table, her mind raced. It was obvious now that Cassian was onto whatever this was, and she knew he wouldn't drop things easily. This would happen again, and again. How long? Until her body finally succumbed and collapsed on itself? Would they have this back and forth every morning, every evening, until she could no longer push herself through the weakness that was taking over her limbs?

How long did she plan to go on like this? It was a question Rosalie didn't have the answer to, and was scared to ruminate on it too long.

For now, as his parents resumed eating, she was content to listen to the sounds of cutlery on plates and let herself vanish into the background again.

---

Friday, June 16, 1922
7PM

It wasn't going well.

Rosalie was straddling the line of being able to keep her job she'd only just started that week. When the Silver Cork's owner had hired her, it was under the impression that she knew what she was doing in a restaurant environment. She'd given him her previous experience, walked him through her daily tasks and rituals back in France, and the man had seemed genuinely enthused about finally finding some decent help for the dining room.

Her first week had made the man think perhaps she'd oversold herself.

She was trying. Prompt and even a little early to each of her shifts, it was the one good thing she had going for her. But in the fast-paced pub, the girl, with her energy quickly waning couldn't keep up. Orders sat for far too long on the counter before she could get to them. Drinks were spilled at an alarming rate, her hands too shaky and uncoordinated to keep them upright on a tray. Bigger orders were going out in sections rather than all at once, her focus unable to hold a 'Leviosa' for longer than a few seconds at a time.

More than once, the owner had seen her bent over a prep counter in the back, her head in her hands, while she seemed to try and steady herself.

The complaints were numerous.

"Rosie, you're sweet as can be, but I can't have you working here if you can't keep up."

It was the warning she knew was coming, and the humiliation of knowing she was letting the man, and herself down. How would she explain it to Cassian and his parents if the owner decided to let her go? She wouldn't lie. Merlin knew she was doing enough of that already surrounding meal times and how much she wasn't actually eating.

She didn't want her entire life to spiral into one lie after another, all in an effort to cover up the biggest ones.

Not that she was doing a good job of that either. The tense coldness that had settled between her and Cassian in the past week was palpable. He was upset and worried, and she wouldn't give him an inch.

She still didn't know why.

Having finished her shift with another disapproving sigh from her boss, Rosalie had made the short trek back to the McCormick house via floo and the alley that ran behind them. "I'm home," she said, her voice cheerful but muted at the obvious exhaustion that took hold of her. Quick hugs of hello from his parents, and Rosie promised to be back down shortly to help tidy.

She slowly climbed the steps, finding it harder and harder as she neared the top. Passing Cass's bedroom, she glanced through the open door into the empty room. It was difficult for her to keep track of his comings and goings, her mind being muddled and struck by headaches now more often than not. With how mind-numbing he'd said his job at the Ministry was, she was sure he was finding ways to unwind.

She slung her bag off her shoulder and pushed open the door to her room, not noticing he was sat on her bed. Tossing her bag to the floor and slipping out of her shoes, it was only then she looked up when she reached up to untie her hair from the tight bun it had been in all day.

"Hey," she said, her eyebrows raising slightly in surprise as her hair fell down around her shoulders with a quick shake from her hand. Was he...waiting for her for something? Rosie smiled lightly and nudged his knees apart so she could stand in front of him, draping her arms around his neck.

"What are you sitting in here for?" she asked, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

Cassian heard her arrive downstairs. He heard his mother greet Rosie with enthusiasm and assumed his father must have, too, albeit with less fanfare. It was becoming its own routine, he supposed. The world kept spinning; his parents pretended not to notice the way his way was whittling down to nothing. He didn't blame them. They may not have thought it their place to bring up the topic, or perhaps they hadn't found a way to. Either way, it wasn't their job. It was his, and he'd let it go on long enough.

Too long. Much too long.

He heard the lacklustre footsteps ascending the stairs and braced for the moment she walked in. She didn't notice him, not at first, but he was paying attention to her. Cass watched the tremor in her hands as she undid the tie in her hair. He'd noticed the subtle sway when she'd relieved herself of her bag.

Brown eyes bore their way into her blue when she turned and caught sight of him.

She smiled. He didn't.

Cassian welcomed her between his legs, his own expression solemn. He hadn't taken anything that evening, wanting to be perfectly sober-minded and sharp for what he knew would be a difficult but necessary subject to broach. His arms automatically moved to wrap around her middle, the solemnity making room for concern as his own brows furrowed.

"What are you sitting in here for?"

"Waiting for you," he replied quietly, his gaze searching hers. She smiled like she couldn't or wouldn't allow herself to see that she was dying. Cassian had seen that smile before. It was placating and a little evasive. Rosie had been carefully evading him, hiding behind the larger family dynamic and now her job – as if he'd ever been that easy to shake.

"I don't get it," he confessed, pulling her to sit on his thigh. "What's going on? Why are you doing this—no, don't," he added quickly when he saw her lips part to reply. She'd tell him she didn't know what he was talking about, that nothing was going on. She'd find something else to talk about or otherwise make herself busy dressing down from her work shift. Half listening, more focused on how she would explain away the very obvious outcome of a decision she'd made quietly.

"You know what I'm talking about." There was no need for either of them to continue pretending otherwise.

This wasn't an accident. It wasn't forgetfulness. Hunger would've corrected both by now. The only conclusion that remained was that his wife was starving herself on purpose.

Cassian knew that things hadn't magically become better. Moving forward, starting their lives over again and working toward setting up something for the future wasn't enough to erase the past. The baby was still gone. The old woman in France had still taken advantage of Rosie's kindness. Her family had still tried to destroy them. Cass couldn't give her back their little apartment in Allonnes with her plants on the balcony and the little kitchen she'd made her own.

He didn't want to, either. Cassian never wanted their lives looking that way ever again. He never wanted to hear she was pregnant and have his first thought be how they'd take care of their own baby. He never wanted them working 12-hour shifts that left them too exhausted to love each other. The boy wanted to do it right now that they had the chance to. He hated his new job more than he could say, but it was better. It gave them more money. It made it possible for him to carve out something real for them.

She needed to be alive to see it.

"You're not talking to me, you've just...it looks like you've given up. Like you're just waiting to..." he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"You can't keep going like this, and I think you already know that."

He was quiet, subdued. When he didn't return her smile, Rosie felt her stomach go cold with the chill that ran through her. While the past week had been quieter between them than usual, mostly due to her determination to not be trapped into a conversation she didn't want and wasn't ready to have, his softness with her was rarely lacking.

She went easily when he pulled her down on his lap, her eyes locked onto his. He was waiting for her, and she thought she knew what that meant. Between the solemnity in his expression and knowing his concern, there wasn't much else it could be.

"What's going on? Why are you doing this—no, don't."

Her lips had parted to ask what he meant, but before she could, he stopped her. It wasn't an attempt to brush him off, but more to get clarity before she tried to reason with him. Was she going to try and talk her way out of this? Wouldn't that only make things worse?

"You know what I'm talking about."

She did. Her eyes fell from his to her lap, the thoughts that she knew she owed him refusing to come. She didn't have words for him, or anything that he was likely expecting of her. Rosie knew that her biggest and most consistent complaint about Cassian was his avoidance of difficult conversations when it came to himself. It had driven wedge after wedge between them, Rosie being on the end that begged to be let in, while he stood staunchly in front of her insisting he was fine.

She wasn't fine. None of this was fine. Nothing had been fine for a very long time now, and it was exhausting.

It wasn't just her body that was tired, but her spirit. Every part of her - her body, heart and soul- had felt like she had been fighting a war for years now and had lost every single battle. Nothing ever got better, if anything, only worse.

Every time she thought they'd made headway or had found a bit of light again, something else came along to smash it all to pieces.

Most of it their own doing.

"You're not talking to me, you've just...it looks like you've given up. Like you're just waiting to..."

"Die." The word came soft, barely above a whisper, oceans drowning in the fabric that strewn across her thighs. She blinked hard, her lips tightening as she drew them into her mouth. Was that what she wanted? Did she want to die? Had everything finally become too overwhelming and too dark for her to navigate that she saw no other outcome?

"I don't know what this is," she answered truthfully. She had tried asking herself countless times, but it was the same answer she got every time. It was what she felt like she deserved. "I just know that...our baby's dead. And it's my fault." She couldn't look at Cassian, shame overwhelming her as she finally spoke the thoughts that had been swimming behind her eyes for weeks. "It is. I was his mother. I was supposed to be able to protect him."

But she had been careless and left the wards down. She had been reckless and took risks with Cassian's life knowing who her father was. "You didn't have to hear your mother scream. You didn't have to see the way your father looked at me when I brought you back to them." She looked at him again, holding back her emotions as best as she could.

"I don't know that I can..." she stopped for a moment, considering her words, trying to be honest about the things she'd said. She always asked Cassian for honesty, for him to let her in even when he felt his lowest or lingered in the darkest recesses of his mind.

She loved him. He loved her. She owed him what she asked of him..

"I just want to disappear."

"Die."

The word was soft but hit with enough force to shatter him. It was the word he'd skirted around, the one he dared not drift close to, but it was the most accurate. Death skulked around in the shadows, drawing ever closer to his wife with each day that passed. She saw it, too – had just confirmed as much. Rosie was a smart girl. She knew the natural outcome of not eating and of letting herself waste away to nothing.

"I don't know what this is. I just know that...our baby's dead. And it's my fault."

Cassian tried to listen with ears wide open despite the steadily rising panic. He wanted her to know he was there, that he was with her and that she wasn't facing any of this alone, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that she'd felt alone and like she was shouldering things on her own this whole time. They'd both been hurting. It didn't take this moment for him to realise that. They'd both retreated into themselves and little vices they thought could take the edge off. He could never judge her for it, knowing what he did, but hers was getting too expensive to ignore.

"It is. I was his mother. I was supposed to be able to protect him."

"Rosie..." he breathed, feeling the weight of her words too intimately. It was something he'd thought about in the quiet moments, too. Their first role as parents – arguably the most important...

Danger had come to their door; the baby was helpless, and his father hadn't been able to protect him. It seemed Rosie harboured similar sentiments. Could things have been different if they'd both thought to utter these words to each other instead of letting them fester and rot inside them separately? It was too late to know now. His wife was hurting in the realest way, and he didn't...he didn't think he knew how to fix it. Not by himself.

How did he take away her pain?

How did he make sure she never hurt again? It felt like the hardest question he'd been grappling with since the day they ran. He'd never found an answer, not even now.

"I just want to disappear."

He...

Cassian's shoulders sagged in defeat. Wasn't she already disappearing? She hardly had the energy for anything anymore. Her mood was low. The girl was barely surviving and wanted to complete the work. And what would he do? Sit by politely? Support her to her grave with sweet words? What would become of him after? Would he survive a world she wasn't in?

Could he watch her do it to herself? Knowing she deserved the world? Knowing she deserved more than starving to death in a home full of love and food?

He couldn't.

Cass took her by both hands, twisting her so she could face him fully.

"We...Rosie...I wanna ...let me take you to the hospital." When the thought had first crossed his mind, it had seemed like an extreme action so he'd sat with it. Not eating was something people took care of at home. A few meals, a bit of kind words. This...they were already beyond that. Her words told him as much. This wasn't a matter he could pull her from on his own, and he couldn't lose her, not like this. The boy couldn't save them from her father, but he would save her from this whether she wanted him to or not. The choice was only hers up to the point she refused; then it would be removed from her.

Perhaps if Rosalie had been able to see their situation for what it truly was - victims who had survived something so unthinkable - she would have had more grace for herself.

Merlin knew had this happened to any of her friends, if it had only happened to Cassian, she would have been able to separate any honest mistakes or inadequacies from the perpetrators that had actually caused all of it. But the girl had always been hard on herself, a symptom of the standards she’d always been held to by her family. When she wasn’t “good” enough, it was her fault, not the impossible expectations that were far out of her reach.

It wasn’t her fault that their baby was dead. It wasn’t her fault that Cassian had been nearly killed. But since that night, Rosalie hadn’t been able to tap into the part of her mind that would absolve her of that guilt.

It was easy to punish herself. It gave her something to focus on outside of the hurt that gripped her heart.

"We...Rosie...I wanna ...let me take you to the hospital."

Rosie stared for a second, blue eyes dulling as what little color she had in her face drained away. Black spots dotted the edge of her vision, her body beginning to tense, preparing for fight-or-flight.

The hospital? She…she didn’t need the hospital. She just needed him to listen, to hold her, to tell her everything would be alright. She didn’t need to be poked and prodded by healers and nurses, psychoanalyzed and observed.

The girl had spent far more time than she’d have preferred in hospitals recently, and just the thought of being surrounded by those sounds and smells again, having her every move watched - it sent a shiver down her spine.

No. No. The hospital was the last thing she ‘needed’.

“No,” she immediately refused, her head shaking back and forth rapidly as her eyes grew wide. If he took her to the hospital, they’d put her on the psych ward. Stuff like this didn’t end up in magical accidents and she wasn’t a pediatric patient anymore.

“I-I don’t need the hospital,” she said as she attempted to rise from his lap, but Cassian was firm in his hold, his grip tightening uncomfortably around her as he held her against him.

“Cassian, stop it,” her voice cracked as she struggled against his hold, wanting to be let free so she could put physical distance between the idea of the hospital and herself. “I’m okay, really. I didn’t mean it,” she said, tears flooding her eyes, as her voice raised in panic. She could still hear herself screaming when Kari and Julia brought her to the hospital as she was miscarrying. She could still feel the searing ache around her neck when she’d woken in the hospital in France. She could still see Cassian thrashing in the bed, trying to fight off an invisible force.

Hospitals meant pain, devastation, heartbreak and horror. She didn’t need to go to Mungo’s to be better. She’d eat, right now if he wanted her to. She wouldn’t be able to keep it down, but she’d try.

Anything to not go back to the place that held all of her worst memories.

He stood suddenly, and she went with him but his hold on her didn’t loosen. “Cassian! Cassian listen!” The tears broke, spilling over cheeks as her hands clung to him, pulling at his shirt. “Please. Don’t…I’m not going. You can’t take me there!” As they moved towards the door, her legs grew weak, the dark spots at the corners of her eyes growing larger. Her heart slammed erratically against her chest as she began to wail, her pulls on his shirt becoming weak slaps as she tried to fight him off.

“I’M NOT GOING!” she screamed, “Cassian stop, please don’t do this!” Sobs erupted out of the girl as she struggled, her heels digging into the floor in a vain effort to keep from being carried out the door.

"No."

No?

What did she mean by 'no'? Rosie tried to get up, but he held her firmly. Knowing his wife as long as he did, the boy knew what would come next. As much as she liked to get on him for his tendency to avoid, she was no better when it came down to it. He wasn't there to point fingers or cast blame, but Rosie had hidden something this heavy for as long as she had, allowing it to tear her down inch by inch while she kept him in the dark? She'd let it get to the point where she wanted to disappear, and when told they were going to fix it...could only...say...no?

It was a little too late for that, a few pounds too late.

“I-I don’t need the hospital.”

He sighed, realising this wouldn't be as easy or as straightforward as he'd led himself to believe when he'd finally built up the resolve to see it done. "...Rosie. We have to—"

“Cassian, stop it. I’m okay, really. I didn’t mean it.”

The crack in her voice had his grip loosening for a split second before his nerves found him again. Throughout the course of their relationship, Cass had never been physical with her, not in the way he knew he now had to be. There had been a brief moment back while they'd still been relatively careless children at Hogwarts, and she'd thought she was pregnant. He'd shaken her and regretted it. The look of hurt and betrayal she'd given him had been enough to force sobriety even in moments where he felt his emotions wandering away with him.

This was different. This wasn't an explosion of emotion – at least, not on his end. The boy had considered other options, but, without knowing it, Rosie had shot down each one in a span of five minutes.

Nothing about this was okay, and the decision was no longer hers to make, not when she'd proven she couldn't be trusted with it.

He stood, taking her with him.

“Cassian! Cassian listen! Please. Don’t…I’m not going. You can’t take me there!”

This...this was going to be harder than he'd ever imagined it could be. The tears chiselled away at his defences, his hands nearly loosening their grip for a second time, but the fear stirring inside his chest forced him to hold on. Cassian swallowed roughly, trying to steel himself for what he knew he had to do even while she clung to him and begged.

"Yes, I can," he said firmly despite the way his own voice shook. Putting his hands on her like this, using his strength to overpower her, went against everything he believed. With each day that passed, Cassian found himself having to become someone he was not. Like with every other time, he realised that he didn't have a choice. Rosie didn't leave him with one. It broke his heart watching the raw terror swimming around in her large blue irises. There was a part of him that wanted to pull her close and promise her she didn't have to go anywhere if she didn't want to.

He actively fought that part, knowing it wasn't the part that would do her any good. "We're going."

He yanked her toward the door, trying to be gentle but understanding it would require force.

“I’M NOT GOING! Cassian stop, please don’t do this!”

"Rosie, stop!"

The door flew open at their approach, both his parents hurrying in.

"What's going on up here?" his father demanded.

"We're fine," Cassian insisted, exasperated by the scene it had become. Against her struggles and flailing limbs, the boy scooped her up, pressing her tightly against his chest to prevent her wiggling.

"Cassian, what do you think you're doing?" his mother asked next, trying to step in the way. He nudged her from his path with his shoulder, on a clear march towards the stairs.

"We're going to the hospital."

"What...what's happened?" Kari asked, the pair rushing back into the hall behind him.

"I'm handling it," he called over his shoulders. It didn't matter how much she kicked or cried, he kept telling himself. Grabbing a handful of floo powder from the fireplace, he took them away in a puff of green smoke with nothing more than a few uttered words.

When the door flew open and Cassian’s parents rushed in, Rosalie didn’t even register them. Her mind was so frayed, her emotions so wild and uncontrolled that it left room for nothing other than her struggle to be released.

It didn’t feel real. This couldn’t be happening. At no point in the last few weeks, while Rosalie allowed her body to whither and shrink into skin and bones, had she ever considered such an outcome. Death possibly, though she hadn’t given herself much room to linger on that thought either, or what that would mean for her poor husband left in the wake of her silent destruction.

But not this.

Cassian had never been the type to use physical strength to force her into submission. He’d never raised a hand to her, never shoved her, never so much as roughly grabbed her arm. There had been the shake, once, but it had been in a moment of extreme emotion and hadn’t been violent or done out of malice, and while Rosie, with time would likely realize this wasn’t either, in the moment it felt like betrayal.

The boy who had always been so gentle with her, so willing to give her autonomy where she needed it, now stripped her of all of it as he lifted her into his arms, despite the way she slapped and pulled at him.

“Cassian, please,” she sobbed as he carried her down the stairs. Her hands slowed as she exhausted herself, and she slumped against him, her tear-covered face buried in his neck as she clung to him, needing the comfort he refused to give.

The pain that had been lingering in her chest for far too long finally exploded outwards, every tear and sob a cacophony of disappointment, depression, loss, grief, anger, terror, heartbreak and betrayal. It was the culmination of a little girl who had tried for far too long to manage her own and everyone else’s emotions, trying to keep everyone afloat while she sucked in one watery breath after another.

The chickens had finally come home to roost.

A green flash, and Rosalie felt the cold flames of the floo engulf them.