Choices

Claire had sent a thick report, greatly against all of her feelings. Graham Gordon had finally demanded she send in biographies on every one she had come into contact with in a real way. That meant Rivah Trenton, Irene Norwood, Gavin Blackmoor, Maximus Morrison, Jack Dyllan, and Fred Weasley. She had assured him that she had no information that could be useful to anyone in the American Ministry. But he had insisted. And, truly, there was nothing of importance she could see.

So why was it so hard to send the owl?

Claire stared at the large envelope. A mournful hoot made her look up at the large owl that was staring at her. “I know, I know,” she whispered, picking up the envelope. She held it, feeling the weight of its contents, the weight of its information. There really was nothing incriminating. She had not stumbled onto any great secrets or grand scandals. Their characters were not painted poorly – not even Fred Weasley, who had annoyed her so greatly. Everyone was reported on their habits and their jobs, assured to be seemingly peaceful, efficient workers. Except, of course, for Fred and Jack. She painted them true to their nature, and if Graham wasn’t at least a little concerned by them, something was very wrong with him.

That was it. That was why she couldn’t send this envelope. She was putting them at risk. And neither of them were friends, exactly, but they weren’t unfriendly – odd, as that was exactly how they had been to her. Still, she had seen Dyllan in her home, with her family. What would happen to Max and Sunny if the threat was realized and America demanded her to be neutralized? Or what if Fred did turn out to be someone to worry about and he found out that she had been the one to reveal him. The sad thing was that he probably wouldn’t be surprised.

Claire stood, putting her hands behind her head. She paced back and forth, using her yoga breathing exercises to calm herself down. She glanced to the envelope and all the calm flew out the window. She snatched it up and pressed it against her chest, quietly muttering to herself. “Your job. Your home. Your career. Your friends. Send this envelope and your closer to all of it.” She froze. “Okay. I’m sending it.” But she didn’t move. The owl hooted, as though reminding her.

Claire let out a groan of frustration and shrunk, balling her hands into fists. Finally, she righted herself and shook her head, letting out a long breath. It had to be done. She took on this assignment. She knew what it entailed. Graham had not hidden any of the sacrifices, nor had he made it seem at all easy. It had been easy to agree to when the people she would be spying on were nameless, faceless beings. Now they were people with names, faces, families, hopes, expectations. Some of them were her friends.

She moved quickly, tying the envelope to the owl’s leg, her fingers moving quickly as though they had been made for betrayal. She took two great strides towards the shoot that led to the escape for owls, heaving it open. The owl took off and she slammed the chute shutter closed, staring at it for a few seconds. Breathe. You’re always in control. You chose this, you’re in control.

She chose this. She sold out her friends. It was not just the job. She wasn’t forced into anything. No one was forced into anything. She chose this.

“Damn it!” she snapped, sweeping her hand out. She knocked her hand into a glass paperweight, which immediately broke. “Shit!” she yelped, pain catching her off guard. The shattered glass was all over the ground, trailing out the door of her office. She reached up, covering her hands with her eyes. What was wrong with her? She had not once lost her composure while on the job. She squeezed her eyes shut, her bottom lip rolling under her top lip miserably. She took in a deep breath and let it out shakily.

Her hand fell and she was composed, though she certainly looked unhappy. She had not noticed the cut on her hand. She walked out to the doorway, beginning to carefully sweep the shards into her office with her wand. “Perfect,” left her lungs with a gust of exasperation.

Keiran was on the wrong floor.

He knew he was on the wrong floor, but couldn't actually bring himself to do anything about it. If he needed an excuse, he could say he was up talking to Mairen and Scorpius. At least that was something. Knowing full well that he was meant to be on Avery's floor to talk with her about everything going on at the Ministry.

Things had just been too stressful lately for him to walk into another awkward situation with someone that his (ex? ...yeah, ex-) best mate wouldn't approve of him seeing. To make it worse, Avery was once the person he considered his best friend out of anyone. Unfortunately, his ex-best mate happened to be married to the ex-best friend, and neither wanted to put up with him just then.

So it had come to wandering and wondering just how long he could stay at the Ministry before his worrying over the students at his mum's house would drive him to Avery's office. Once he met with her, he could return and make sure the kids were all okay. It was the worrying that made him accomplish things. The worrying that kept him up at night. The worrying that meant he almost never spent any time with his wife, even though he desperately wanted to. He needed her to set him right again, but she hadn't filled that role in a long time. Keiran hadn't been much help - if any - for her lately, though, so he could hardly find it in him to complain.

As he turned a corner, deciding to stop in and try and pull answers from Scorpius (since Mairen clearly wasn't going to tell him anything), a loud crash and a couple shouts made him stiffen and swing his gaze around. His eyes settled on an office a few doors down, and upon approaching he immediately had to wonder how the woman had managed to shatter her own desk ornament.

"Um, you alright? The shouting gave me pause."

He nearly chided himself for actually confronting the blonde, but instead allowed a concerned look to work its way onto his face. He had never been the sort to actually ask after the accidents or sudden reactions of others. It was probably his time with the kids, he decided, that had actually made him properly take time to look after those around him, whether he knew them or not. So Keiran shifted his weight and accepted the wait before she would tell him whether or not she was doing well. If nothing else came out of the school project, at least he would have changed for the better in one aspect.

She felt like an idiot to have lost control like that. Her whole life had been about control. It had been the main reason she knew she could not commit to a lifetime as Robin's wife. She knew she could not control him, and she did not want to, but she also knew she had to be in control to ensure she got the chance to do everything she wanted in her life. Which, admittedly, she still was not exactly sure of what she wanted, but she knew it would come to her, and it would be better for everyone that she and Robin did not tie the knot at seventeen.

It would have been nice if he had not married into the family but... there was that Life thing, doing what it did best - breaking her spirit.

She was so sick of herself as she bent down to scoop away the shards. The words stupid and idiot kept ringing in her head as she used a simple spell to push the shards into a small pile. They had gathered now so she gingerly picked them up, cupping them into her palm, when a voice reminded her that composure was not just for her sake, but for the public image she was meant to be giving of confidence, efficiency, and certainty. She swallowed and straightened up, the shards in her hand.

"I, yeah," she said, her rolling voice quickly stumbling to grasp some semblance of professonalism. "I'm fine, I just-" She tensed, causing her hand totighten on the shards. She jerked and dropped them. "Damn," she hissed. She waved her wand and the glass disappeared - idiot, should have done that first, stupid - bringing her attention to the gash across her palm originally caused by her outburst. "Oh... shoot."

She gripped her hand, peering at it for a second, before realizing she had acted so foolishly in front of this man... twice now. Claire demanded perfection out of herself, and now this man knew her to be the clumsy goofball she truly was. She closed her eyes, her eyebrows scrunching together as she faced this blow to her pride. "I'm sorry," she said. "I... I'm having an off moment." She let out a short laugh. "I've been having an off year."

A year. It had almost been a year since she had left New York.

"Strange. And here I was thinking I was the only one," Keiran offered with a wry smile. "Sometimes it seems like the rest of the world is spinning and I - or, I suppose we - are left here, stuck."

A heavy, burdened sigh left him as his shoulders shrank down out of the shrug they had been lifted into. "You'll be alright, then? I'm meant to see someone today but I'm not quite up to going. I would've offered to help clean up, but I suppose you have that in hand.."

Indeed, Keiran knew he didn't have long, but he also knew that he was not required to see Avery that day. If he happened to get involved with helping someone, how could she be angry with him? Avery was the sort to want to help even when she couldn't, so Keiran taking after her would almost undoubtedly be a good sign in her opinion. Right?

Letting his gaze focus once more, Keiran pulled himself from his thoughts and found his eyes following the tensing of the woman's hand. "You're hurt?" He asked belatedly, drowning slightly. His first instinct was to take up his wand and fix it, but he had to remind himself that he was not about to help a student. This was a stranger who probably wouldn't take kindly to his reaching out and taking her hand without asking after it first.

"D'you want me to...?" He trailed off, gesturing to the hand in question.

It was not like her to just come right out and make a comment such as the 'off year' claim. It was a pretty personal comment, for her at least, and she did not often express her own exasperation or weakness so readily with strangers. Before she could regret it, however, he gave an agreeable response, putting her more at ease. There was not judgment in the man's voice, but she gained a sense of commraderie. It was funny to think that she was not the only one who felt miserable lately. Misery loved company, but it was so hard to find each other.

Would she be alright? Of course she would? When was Claire Bishop not okay? She always ensured  that, if she was falling apart, that at least no one could see the evidence of it. Even when she was panicking inside, she looked calm, cool, and collected. Claire was proud of the rumors she heard in the Ministry halls about her, that she was overly focused, a powerhouse of productivity, coolly efficient if a bit impersonable.

She waved her uninjured hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. No worries, I just..." She dropped her hand to grip her wrist, and that was when the man noticed her hand. She lifted the corner of her mouth and lifted a shoulder, dropping it like it was a heavy weight. "I... yeah. It looks that way." She let out a short laugh, though it sounded thoroughly unamused.

He offered to heal it, and she considered the idea of it. She could heal it herself, but it was on her dominant hand, meaning that she would have to use her weaker hand and she did not want to mess things up and leave a nasty scar. She hated asking for help, but she knew it was a better decision. She let out a small sigh, before offering as pleasant a grimace as she could, still a bit surprised to have been so off her game. "If you could, I'd really appreciate it."