Who: Corners
What: Distress
Where: Their house
When: Last night
He was not--in the best of moods. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the book in front of him, but his eyes felt strained and the stress forced his head to throb. The bloody slash across the side of his head was providing another annoyance in his life. He had read this book a number of times, almost enough to be able to recite certain chapters by heart, yet he was finding great difficulty in getting through and across each page. Gabriel let out a quick, frustrated breath and dropped the novel down to his lap.
Michael was asleep, Amissa too he believed unless she had awoken (with her father missing, they tried to keep some normalcy in the girl’s life---at least at the Corners’ she wouldn’t be wondering why her father wasn’t around). Rachel was...Gabriel frowned as he realized he did not know where his wife was. It wasn’t a strange occurrence, she had her daily list of things to do mentally stored in her head, but as of right now Gabriel did not appreciate being unaware of her location. Maybe it was because of the baby, but he decided that this would not do. He put the book on the side table and stood, stretching his neck to see around the corners as he started through the house.
“Rachel?” he called out, feeling anxious. It had been hard not to feel that way this past week, but Gabriel pressed down the emotion as he stood at the foot of the steps, “Rachel, are you up there?”
What Rachel was feeling was tired. Never mind Gabriel's little trip to hospital; he, at least, was home safe in the library, whereabouts accounted for. But Bertram's disappearance was almost more than she could handle—what was she going to do about Amissa? To learn too that Healer Smethwyck was amongst those who had vanished, well… that pushed her near to the breaking point. If it weren't for the fact that she needed to act as though nothing were out of the usual for her daughter, and perhaps for the sanity of her husband, not to mention the well-being of her unborn child—it was quite likely Rachel was going to suffer a nervous breakdown. She paused in the middle of drawing back the bed covers, leaning her head against the wall as she closed her eyes, trying to rest for just a moment. The feeling of seasickness that she so fondly remembered when she was pregnant with Amissa had been assailing her all day, and she was desperate for a little bit of relief.
When Gabriel's voice cut across the silence to her, she was not surprised. For the last few days, it had been much of the same—random bouts of worry that plagued him. It had been difficult to snap out of the distant, stand-offish demeanor she'd still been giving him, even after he'd discovered the reason for her cold shoulder. But she was not a child anymore, and Rachel knew when to put aside her own selfish machinations.
She did not hasten her steps out of the bedroom, walking at a slow, measured pace out of the bedroom, then across the landing.
"Keep your voice down," she told him gently, leaning over the railings. "Are you all right?"
He nodded, “I’m fine, how are you feeling?”
Gabriel stared up at Rachel with great concern, finding himself move up the stairwell to about halfway. She looked tired, had he woken her? He nearly flushed at the thought; he was behaving like one of the children, constantly calling out for her. He needed to find something to occupy his time, to give Rachel the rest she deserved, but it was hard to focus on any one thing when so many of their friends and family were suffering. Giada’s husband, Mackenzie, Bertram. He knew that Rachel’s ex-boyfriend was also among the missing, and he couldn’t blame her for being distressed about it. If she was, she was very good at hiding emotions (or impending pregnancies). Gabriel pressed his lips into a thin line as he continued to look at her. He felt useless, as there was literally nothing he could do to take this stress off of his wife.
“Would you like me to get you anything?” he said, taking a breath. He had not been around Mary during these early stages of her pregnancy with Michael, so Gabriel was not particularly sure what needed to be done. Rafe had explained that for the next nine months (less, he supposed) he was to be at Rachel’s every beck and call concerning food, drink, rest, anything. She was--creating life! Their son. Gabriel wished he’d been better concerning Mary’s pregnancy, and he was going to do the absolute best he could this time around, as this boy would most definitely be their last child. “Anything, Rachel.”
He looked quite out of sorts, Rachel thought as she studied him. Of course, she did not blame him in the least; a traumatic experience was difficult to overcome. Whilst "nurturing" may not have been her most fitting description, Rachel knew well enough how to take care of her own—and that head wound of his was worrying her, no matter how he'd tried to brush it off at St. Mungo's. Privately, Rachel believed his experience during the blackout was eating more away at him than he was willing to let on (or perhaps even knew himself), and compounded with the stress of everything else, of the missing people who were so dear and important to them—well, it left Mr. and Mrs. Corner in quite a tizzy.
She extended her hand towards him in invitation, "Sit with me, for a while?" A brief hesitation flitted across her face. "If you're not busy, naturally," she amended.
Her outstretched hand brought a gentle smile to his face and Gabriel did not hesitate in continuing up the stairs. He found it amusing that even after offering to retrieve whatever she wished, Rachel offered up a way for him to get out of it. He found that commonplace in their home, that it seemed like his wife found it hard to believe that he would do nice things for her, but Gabriel also knew that it was a challenging aversion to companionship to get over. He was trying, though, to get Rachel to understand that it wasn’t an act; he wanted to please her and make her happy, it felt natural to do such things.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he took her hand to lead her back to the bedroom. Their room was well-lit with natural light, and Gabriel had no hesitation in taking place upon the window seat, his back pressing against the side. He pulled one leg beneath him to provide room for Rachel, and he had a hard time letting go of her hand. Gabriel was glad that she hadn’t asked for him to leave.
Fixing the skirt of her robes as she sat, Rachel stared at their entwined hands. "A little… tired," she replied. "Much of the same."
However, her concern was not herself at this time, but the man who sat beside her. Looking up, Rachel used her free hand to touch, very gingerly, the skin near his head wound, gently guiding his head in slight movements to examine the slash as best she could. "It still doesn't look better," she told him with a raised eyebrow. "I wish you wouldn't be so cavalier about it. It's quite obvious this is spell damage, you really should have stayed longer in hospital."
Gabriel watched Rachel as she examined his injury, captivated by her interest. His eyes shut, however, as she gently reproached his early leave from St. Mungo’s. It had been easy to be discharged so quickly as after the hospital was scanned and given the clear go-ahead of safety, there was a frantic mess to get everything back into order, and find places for those newly admitted patients who were arriving by the minute. Hogwarts had been opened up as well, for those who had endured attacks in Hogsmeade, but St. Mungo’s was still the central hub for the injured and ill. Gabriel had easily maintained to the frazzled healer that he was feeling fine, and would fill his prescription potion at a local apothecary, much to the disapproval of his wife.
It was hard to ignore now, however, that the scar was leaving more than just a physical mark. Even with the potions he had been taking, Gabriel still felt tired and irritable. He didn’t know what else the healers would be able to do, but it frightened him more to think about what could happen if he took the time out of his day to go and find out.
“There were more important things to tend to,” he said, taking a breath, “I couldn’t have stayed in the hospital and leave you alone.” Gabriel’s eyes opened and he sent her a soft smile. “And the children, of course.”
Rachel murmured a noncommittal sort of noise, still looking far from convinced. "Still, you ought to think it exceedingly lucky you have a nurse for a wife—ex-nurse, that is. And a Healer for a sister." Even if she was frightfully young and had only been certified for little over a month…and then, she supposed, there was Euan, but it would take more than little convincing for Rachel to agree to see
that Healer Abercrombie. She withdrew the hand examining the injury, thinking on how it ought to be treated if this particular potion failed to work.
Thinking of St. Mungo's and the time she'd spent there, however, put a lump in her throat as she thought about the witches and wizards she'd kept the company of, and those of them who’d gone missing. Not to mention the father of her child was missing—and as infuriating as she might find his presence on a daily basis, there was little doubt she'd have done almost anything to have him back in Amissa's life. "Do you believe—" she began quietly, finding it difficult to speak. "Do you believe they're alive? That all these people—they will be found?" Rachel involuntarily squeezed his hand just a little bit tighter.
“I remind myself I’m very lucky every day,” Gabriel responded with a smile and a funny tone, feeling ever like the doting husband. His friends would tease him madly for a moment like that, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t speak lies, especially when concerning Rachel.
But. It startled him, to see and hear Rachel’s concern over the victims of the kidnappings. He knew she was upset about it, of course she was, the entire United Kingdom was, but the fact remained that he could physically not do anything to fix Rachel’s anxieties. Gabriel felt his chest tighten as his mind raced for his answer, wondering whether the honest one would be the same as the one he should give his wife to ease her mind. He reached out and put his other hand on her shoulder, leaning toward her with his head ducked to catch her gaze.
“Yes, I do,” he said with great earnest. Gabriel needed to see that his trust in the law enforcement and whoever else was looking for those taken was being believed by Rachel, and he kept his eyes locked on hers. He pushed some hair away from her face, resting his hand in her hair. Gabriel enjoyed the comfort he felt from the gentle touch. “They’re all good people with wonderful things to live for, so---yes, I think they will be found, and be all right.”
Looking at him uneasily, she had to duck her head. She could not believe it—she would not believe it until these people were safely home, though Rachel might badly wish it to be true. Optimism had never been her strongest suit.
Rachel paused for the tiniest of moments before sliding her arms around Gabriel's chest, taking a deep breath as she pressed her cheek to the firm planes of his chest, just where his heart beat. "Thank you for coming back to me," she whispered, "even after—everything."
He instantly wrapped his arms around her. Gabriel shifted slightly to give Rachel the best position to lie against him, ready for the two of them to drift off into a light sleep. Or just her, he didn’t mind to be her resting place. He wondered for a moment if she would want a verbal explanation of why he came back (did she mean from the hospital, or not leaving when she’d escaped to Ibiza?), but Gabriel found that he would not be able to properly verbalize his reasoning for being with Rachel. All the words he could conjure did not seem appropriate or dignified enough, and Gabriel settled with the idea that he’d never be able to vocalize how much he loved her.
Instead he pressed his face to the top of her head, letting out a breath of relief and satisfaction at being at home, with her.
