The silence got to him more than anything else. It was funny, most people thought that it was Gideon who’d be bothered by this and in many ways, this might be true. Gideon rarely ever went quiet. But it was Fabian who couldn’t live with silence, who constantly needed some sort of background noise to keep him sane. So he played music.
The record player sprang to life with a whisper. Fabian loved those precious seconds just before the record began to play, the scraping of the needle against the vinyl, the anticipation that never failed to make his heart beat just a little faster.
Bob Dylan’s scratchy voice seemed strangely appropriate for whatever this was. A crisis meeting, he decided because that he could handle, that he’d been trained for. Collect the data, analyse, evaluate, and create a strategy. It was simple, really, he’d done it a hundred times before.
“No offense to your… activism,” Fabian retorted, his voice now just as tight as Gideon’s fist, “but you don’t have nearly enough insight into the Auror department to judge its procedures.” Here was the thing, Fabian didn’t trust the Ministry. Too many turncoats and double agents. He didn’t even trust Dumbledore. Criticise those and he’d never bat an eye. But Alastor Moody had his unwavering loyalty and he wouldn’t have his methods put into question when he’d seen first-hand that, as unconventional as they might be, they worked. Not even by his twin.
“If necessary, yes, that’s exactly what I plan to do.” It wouldn’t be an easy task, but Fabian knew, that if it came down to it, both Molly and Arthur would put their children’s’ safety before their own comfort. “Or would you rather have them lose one – or all – of those seven children? Would you rather lose your sister, Gideon?” They were both so worn out and tired, the betrayal of a man they’d thought to be on their side still fresh and aching like an open wound. Fighting was the last thing they ought to be doing, and yet here they were. “Because I for one can’t. Not you, either. Especially not you. I’m selfish like that, you might have noticed.” He npointedly looked down at his own chest – a weak attempt at a joke. The scar had been a small price to pay for his brother’s life and they both knew that he’d do it – and so much more – a hundred times over to keep Gideon safe.
For now, there was still time. He could just not sign the paperwork. Not hand in the badge that lay heavy in his pocket, that he’d refused to give up for the better part of a year, holding on to that little shred of his past, of who he’d been before. He could go back, they’d offered. The tremor affected his left hand, not the right and with a bit of training he’d be back on the front lines in no time. Only that he didn’t want to go back.
“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m making you miss work again. If you want I think I could manage on my own. Would just take a little longer.” Gideon had already given up too much to take care of him at a time when Fabian could barely stand by himself. At some point, he’d have to let his brother get back to his own life instead of forcing him to make compromises left and right for Fabian’s sake.
From where Fabian was sitting at his brothers’ feet, Gideon looked even more worn out and exhausted ad a little lost. “Oh and you don’t?” Yet the true concern softened his whole demeanour. “I already did. Today’s just a little worse than usual. Nothing you should worry ‘bout, though, I can manage. Have you eaten yet?”
Biting his tongue on the response that even Alastor Moody’s best intentions couldn’t save the Ministry’s tedious procedures from eating themselves, (he knew just how well pushing that particular button went, much like Fabian knew precisely which sore spots to apply pressure to and make it hurt). Gideon had always been an open book to his brother and where his laughter and smiles fooled most they rarely fooled him; he knew that each point made would register in the tension of his jaw and the sharp escape of air from his lungs but most of all in his eyes. He’d never quite learned how to disguise the truth from his eyes.
Fabian was a walking reminder of what his so-called activism had already cost his family; a reminder of how close he had come to watching his brother die. The mere reminder of that cost was a sharp pull at his center of gravity, like having his feet knocked out from under him and his heart lodged in this throat. “Do you think that I would ever intentionally put them — put you — in danger?”
The question hung uncertainly in the air and Gideon was suddenly certain that he didn’t want the answer. Gideon would fight for his family, he would bleed for them and he would die for them, if need be, but he simply couldn’t stomach the idea of any more sacrifices made for himself.
He had never wanted to be kept safe or kept at all.
Fingertips drummed against his elbows as his arms coiled in around himself and he turned abruptly, pacing away like a lion that had just acknowledged the boundaries of its cage. “It’s important.” A dismissive wave of his hand followed, bare feet toeing aside the strewn news articles distractedly, “The reserve will understand, I can make up the time at the end of my week. It’ll be—”
Quick? Not likely with Molly’s kids to contend with or his parent's track record.
Ruffling at the scruffy mane of his hair, he paced back toward where Fabian sat, chin jerking upward defiantly as he replied, “I always look good,” in lieu of I always worry about you. Sincerity sneaking up on him regardless in the way it always seemed to do as his hand was extended, interlocking with Fabian’s firmly to haul him back to his feet and swiftly forward into a hug, his free arm winding around his brother’s shoulders and for a moment all of the armor was allowed to soften.
The past few days had been an adrenaline high he hadn’t been able to jump off of, the low the kind that sunk into his bones until they ached and itched. There was a promise and an apology written into his arms and the deep, tired sigh of relief that shuddered down Gideon’s spine.
“Can you?” he asked finally, “Handle it, I mean? If I need to take more time—”
The offer hung in the air pointedly, as if he wasn’t dodging his brother’s question.
