It was important to her, he realized in this moment, to have her words heard out. It was important to all people, he supposed, but in her case in particular, she felt shut out, spoken over. Caradoc didn’t quite know where to begin with that. The myriad of statements she’d made each would have to be unpacked with care; there was someone in him who had the tact and capacity to do it, but this new, foul creature he felt inside him? Caradoc wasn’t really sure that one could.
Still, it wouldn’t be right not to try.
Let a wound go and it would fester
on misconceptions and ill-received
words.
Some of the things she mentioned didn’t sit right with him, either. Two years? Auror training was usually three years, but he knew Marlene to be of considerable determination, and wouldn’t have been surprised at an early graduation for her. Tacking on years for punishment did seem like a mighty one, for little indiscretion. He hadn’t known Moody to be that vindictive a man.
He waited for her to finish, not wanting to interrupt when she so clearly felt like no one was listening. He knew, sometimes, what that felt like. In a way it reminded him of a room similar to this, sitting with Albus Dumbledore and feeling anger bubble inside him, Fabian and Gideon just across from him, so many dead around them and they hadn’t yet known. Hadn’t yet understood what this would cost.
I’m not mad. I feel like I’m dying. It was an echo of a feeling he carried, one he knew so intimately it felt wrong coming from her mouth. Did she? Did it feel like dying to her, when she was still able to go home, when she still had a support network even if she didn’t use it? When she endangered the lives of her partners in the office left and right, complaining time and time again that they wouldn’t have felt that way if they’d gone along with what she set out to do? Before it had felt like youthful transgressions, things she would ease up on with time, things he hoped to slowly make her understand. Now the felt like wounds, each remembrance growing more painful as it flashed by.
Still, he cooled his temper.
He wasn’t that person; he
would not be that person.
❝ First bit o’ advice; don’t go yellin’ and no one’ll think you’re riled. ❞ It was a simple observance, but a poignant one; cooler heads would prevail in an argument over who was angry and who was not. ❝ Don’ matter how righteous the anger or not, people hear yellin’ an’ they think tantrum, ‘specially when the rest aren’ shoutin’. ❞
Caradoc leaned a bit against the wall, watching her expression, waiting for that tell-tale anger to come out against him, as he was sure it would. He had things to say she needed to hear, but that she probably didn’t want to. ❝ As for Moody, that’s nothin’ doin’. I’m o’ mind to talk to him about it, too. ❞ The more seasoned in the Order had dealt with Moody so long they generally were used to his strange choices, but this one wasn’t a choice Caradoc understood, and he’d long since learned Moody respected him better when he spoke up, even if it ended in a light row.
He shook his head. ❝ Let them make jokes. Levity’s not somethin’ we have a lot to go ‘round on. S’Childish, but it won’ hold up a meetin’ the way an argument will. Easier to ignore an’ move on from. ❞ Caradoc raised a brow at her now, as if to say, really? ❝ If I ‘eard right, that was my voice sayin’ not to get up to nothin’ durin’ the funeral. Got enough tact not to say it’d be foolish, but ‘m thinkin’ it, don’ question that. ❞ He sighed, turning it over in his mind. ❝ We’re all afraid o’ seein’ a martyr, Marlene. Happened too often. Mos’ of the people I joined up with… they’re dead ‘n’ buried, an’ we got ourselves to thank for not stoppin’ ‘em when we had a chance. ❞
Caradoc stepped forward at her last statement, going to put a hand to her shoulder. ❝ Does no good bottlin’ it up, ya hear ? ❞ His gaze was surprisingly urgent in its solemnity. ❝ We all feel like we’re dyin’. You think I don’ feel like I’m drownin’ every damn day ? You think any of us are a-okay, happy-go-lucky, jus’ the same as ever ? ❞ There was anger now, rising to the fore, but he kept his voice softer than it wanted to be, trying to take his own advice. ❝ We’re all hurtin’. Not selfish to hurt, but it’s a mite selfish to think you’re goin’ through somethin’ no one else has, that no one else can see, or help. If we’re your friends, lean on us. If we’re not… ❞ He stepped back, brows furrowed. ❝ Then don’ go expectin’ us to act like we are. ❞
When he began to speak she could almost hear the measured tone of his voice, the way it wanted to waver but held true. And then came the advice tumbling from his lips and she felt herself drifting away from the words. She didn’t need advice, Merlin knew she’d gotten her fair share of it over the last few days, everyone wanted to tell her what she was doing, should be doing, could be doing. It was hard to swallow and hard to sit through because apparently walking away from something you didn’t want or ask for was rude. But she was swiftly transported to her own past, to her childhood. Her small hand was grasped painfully tightly in that of an adult, whether it was her mum ( most likely) or dad, perhaps an errant aunt or uncle or a grandparent. Marlene had been unable to remove herself from them, as if she shared a symbiotic relationship with any adult who shared her blood, but she had felt uncomfortable with it for as long as she could remember.
There were no closed doors in her home, there was no quiet and no privacy and no trust. Just fear and control and that was her best and most lasting definition of what love was, what it looked like, what it felt like. Years of never being asked how she felt or what she wanted, years of being TOLD how she felt and what she wanted. But it had been her voice and her will that had brought change, no one had come to save her from anything but herself. That was where her specific brand of confidence and adventure had come from, from being her own hero. But now it was all misunderstood and she despised that label.
She was not as adept at communicating her feelings perhaps
but she was finding herself becoming more and more adrift as
the list of those who kept telling her what she was feeling kept growing.
And the thing about yelling, she was an emotional being and she couldn’t dose out her emotions the way Caradoc did --- the way he was doing. The way everyone else seemed capable of but her. It didn’t help to feel like she was out of control in that way when the people around her were not. As well, no one ever listened to her anymore and she was sure Caradoc could see that, sure it was why he was biting his tongue and waiting to speak, to contradict, to scold.
Yelling seemed the only way anyone would hear her, but they still didn’t listen.
So many were now upset with her, and she knew why but it didn’t lessen the sting. She wasn’t going to gaslight her friends, she was losing herself and had no intention of being anyone’s burden.
Panic surged through her veins like an allergy, skin on fire with an itch she couldn’t satisfy and she reached her hands out to him before catching herself and shoving them out of sight into her cloak. She kept reminding herself she had no right, she had no right to touch him, to receive anything from him, including unsolicited life advice. A fierce and ashamed blush crossed the bridge of her nose to both cheeks but she imagined it looked more to him like anger, she always looked angry now.
She said firmly, meeting his eyes for the second time tonight after months without. “I made my choice and I made it for myself. Whether Moody was wrong or not doesn’t matter anymore. I spent every day since graduation training, I never got any of my partners killed and my success rate hovered somewhere in the low eighties. Admittedly there were a few complaints but the person who got injured the most was myself, because I violated protocol, because I didn’t want my partner to get hurt. Not because I recklessly charged into an encounter, hot headed and stupid, and they got hurt because of it. But rules are rules and violating or ignoring them for any reason becomes an infraction. I wasn’t going to follow some stupid handbook if it meant someone getting hurt or killed unnecessarily. Moody saw it differently and he had every right to, he was my boss and he likely had his own set of rules to follow from his boss. In the end intentions don’t matter, only outcomes.”
She felt bitter about it still and likely would until she could return to the program and finish it proper. But the war took priority over her personal goals. Though she’d like to know if anyone else in history had ever spent two years beyond normal in the Auror training program instead of the required three. She had gone in right after graduation and soon enough she’d have been done. The thought of Caradoc asking Moody about it --- she couldn’t stomach it, him doing her a favor like that and she didn’t even want it.
“Moody made his decision and so did I. Now we both have to live with that choice and respect the others.” She felt it was a rather mature way of thinking and feeling about it all and for a moment she forgot that everyone viewed her and her decisions as childish.
She understood the need for levity and she had wanted it too, but not at her expense in a way. But this she swallowed because THIS was why they thought she was immature. If she could argue against dick jokes or stupid banter between the boys in a tense meeting than she wasn’t seeing it all properly. She just wished she had been able to enjoy it too, and she had for a brief moment and then she let it slip away. But it seemed almost unfair, that they could still make those jokes, laugh hard at them. She wasn’t sure she could do that anymore. But she wasn’t about to make herself a martyr, she had zero intentions of losing her life in this war, of making decisions that could only end tragically. She did not want to become another name on a list of the dead and buried. Self preservation, in fact, was one of her driving traits and Caradoc should know that better than most.
That reminder bit at her bones, it whispered at what she deserved and it was less than this.
His movement startled her back to reality and the weight of his hand on her shoulder was both heavy and warm. She laid into it for half a second before removing it entirely, letting his hand fall away from her. It was not because she didn’t want it there, she had wanted so much more than that but anything she’d ever desired had fizzled with a sadness or an explosion. Her mind buzzed with how much she had hurt him and how he was there now offering all of this to her and how she was so much less than deserving of it. “Caradoc ---” she heard her own voice and it sounded strangled.
When he spoke of drowning she felt herself go pale, she’d swallowed plenty of water when she tried to stand by his side. And she was reminded of his loss and realized perhaps what he was trying to tell her but then his voice shifted and she recoiled without meaning to. She had never implied that no one else felt this way or that no one could understand her. That would be so ridiculous and it made her want to laugh. Why was it that she couldn’t feel this way without being scolded for it? Without being told she wasn’t the only one who felt this way or
---- This was why she wasn’t reaching out, because she kept getting told she was being selfish or childish. She didn’t want that, she wasn’t looking for sympathy or a pat on the back or some false encouragement. She didn’t know what she wanted and that was why she didn’t share her feelings. What was the point when all she got for it was --- this?
But then he counted himself as her friend and it felt like a lie. She had abandoned him at his lowest, she couldn’t handle his grief and now she was drowning in her own. It was a perfect result of karma and she knew it, which made this entire encounter even more awkward. Was contradicting him even worth it, after the shift in his tone? She wanted to think the answer was no but she’d spent so long biting her tongue.
“I never thought or said that I was the only person suffering.” Her own voice came out low, her heart beating out waves of thunder. She was sick and tired of being treated like she was a selfish, reckless child. That wouldn’t change if she let it continue. “And I know you’re angry, you have every right to be. I --- I abandoned you when you needed me most because I couldn’t handle your grief and what came with it.” There it was, the truth she had never said out loud. “But I have no desire to reach out right now Caradoc, I don’t know how to express my emotions without --- without everyone thinking I’m angry or getting offended. Offended because I didn’t reach out to them first or at all. I don’t need or want pep talks or encouragement. I don’t need reminders that we’re all hurting, I know that.”
“I really don’t know why you’re doing this, talking to me, when you clearly seem to have a low opinion of what I feel and how I deal with it.” Their age difference popped into her head then, maybe he saw her as the same angry little kid Moody did and maybe she couldn’t blame him for it but it could still hurt her. Why was it no one could grasp that, that just because she was hurt by something didn’t mean she didn’t understand it? “I am not faulting anyone for not running after me but I am allowed to be hurt that no one stuck up for me in there, whatever their reasons. And why in the world would I dump this on them when so much else is going on, so much else that is so much more important? I don’t need to lean on them, I don’t ask for that because it’s a waste of their time and energy when I can’t figure it out myself.”
she could feel her voice rising in frustration, his earlier advice not to yell barely coming in to keep her quieter. “Is it really some quid pro quo that if I don’t spill my guts to everyone that they won’t bother helping me when I publicly and obviously need it? Because I don’t cry on their shoulders they won’t shield me when I cry in meetings? I’m so sorry I don’t vomit all of my hurt at their doorstep, I really hope that doesn’t mean they’ll just abandon me when I finally do need them to defend or support me.” She took a few deep breaths, this was getting out of hand.
She wanted to say she had never turned her back on any of them when they needed her but that was a lie and a boldfaced one. Marlene could not handle other people’s grief and anger and despair because she couldn’t even handle or understand her own. She would never lie to them and let them come to her when she knew she’d be shite at helping them that way. She could defend them, she could fight for them and with them but she had no grasp of rubbing backs and wiping tears. She was not built for that, for others or herself. And so she didn’t ever ask for it from her friends. And in that meeting she had needed their defense, not their compassion and she got neither anyhow. She didn’t offer what she couldn’t provide and that felt like the right thing to do.
“I give everyone what I can, and unfortunately that isn’t really compassion or, or, or hugs and flattery. It’s not how I love people, I don’t know how to ---” She didn’t want to say she didn’t know how to love anyone, not the way most people needed to be loved. But she knew it was the truth because the only love she had ever experienced was built on control and suffocation and protection even over free will and personal comfort. She did not want to love people like she had been loved but she couldn’t just change the base of what she knew.
She had been trying to learn how to provide empathy and kindness and compassion, quiet moments, soft touches but she always, always shied away from receiving it, how could she ever offer it? Maybe it was a deficiency but she admitted that it was. She was done with this, this conversation or confrontation or whatever it was. She couldn’t keep laying herself bare, she’d have nothing at all left very soon if she did.
“If your words are so heartfelt, why are you even talking to me Caradoc?” This question she wanted answered, more than the rest.
