July, 1978
Who: Graciela Cervantes and Alex Smith (eeeee!)
What: He's home!
Where: Their flat!



“…as reported earlier, the body of Daily Prophet reporter Greg Bartlett was found outside of the gates of the British Embassy in Lisbon, Portugal, with You-Know-Who’s Dark Mark floating meters above the body. There were no witnesses to see how the body was placed there, but it occurred between two-thirty and three o’clock this morning. The search for Alex Smith has been officially changed into a search and recover, and is expected to be found in similar fashion…”

Graciela had banished everyone from her flat at the first report of Greg’s body. She’d met him, a few times, when she’d dropped by during lunch. He was a wonderful man. If they could kill such a kind person, Alex’s short temper and sarcastic remarks were sure to be no threat. She felt betrayed, she felt angry, she was miserable and completely hollow, but even amidst all of the very strong, very draining emotions that were currently swirling through her like a tsunami, Graciela still had hope.

Something inside of her told her that she would know if Alex was dead. Call her a stupid Catholic for believing that they had souls and God was watching over her and her family, but Graciela was sure she would know, and that’s why when she heard the news report about Greg’s body for the fifteenth time in six hours, Graciela didn’t flinch or cry. She was done with crying, she was done with panicking and worrying, she was just waiting for Alex to return, or for the dreadful news to finally come.

She was in the bedroom, sitting back against the headboards with Debbie on her lap and Bernie on the edge of the bed. Her favorite shirt of Alex’s (it was the perfect blue, it brought out his eyes) and a pair of boxer shorts was all she had on and Graciela figured that this would be decent attire to stay in bed for the rest of her life, because that seemed like a likely scenario. She just needed---just, hurry up, radio, tell her how she was going to spend the next how many years, there were only a few words needed to determine it…

Alex was exhausted, sick, and in a shit load of pain. He had taken the first plane out of Portugal, grateful that no one was asking him if he was okay or needed a doctor - or at least hadn't since he'd put on a heavy jacket and donned a pair of sunglasses. He hadn't gone to see a doctor, or a healer, or anything of that ridiculous sort. He just wanted to get home where he would be safe and could throw up without anyone seeing. He didn't want to use magic - he didn't want anything to do with magic at the moment - and it had taken him quite a bit to get home because of it. When he saw the familiar building, he trudged up the stairs, wincing in the process, and began to search for his key. Oh, fuck, he had to have it…

"Hah," he released in a bit of a bitter tone, pulling the piece of metal from his pocket and shoving it into the lock. He pushed the door open with a grunt, stepping inside, and closing it quietly behind him. He was in far too much pain - his head was spinning, his throat felt raw, and he had bruises in places that he didn't know could get bruised. He looked around the house, the familiar sights overly welcoming.

"Gracie?" His voice sounded scratchy and wasn't even above a whisper. No way she could hear him. Grumbling, he let out a light cough and walked around the apartment, peeking in places to see if he could find her. Eventually, he went to the bedroom, where he would have promptly gone to pass out if he hadn't seen her already lying in bed.

"Hi."

She hadn’t heard right; that couldn’t be the front door opening. Who had a key besides Alex and herself? No one, that was who, but instead of jumping up to go and see if it actually was Alex coming in, Graciela froze. What if she was just hearing things, and she raced to the front door just to see that it was still shut and Alex was no where to be found? She couldn’t bear to go through that, so Graciela sat up even straighter, knocking Debbie off her lap and listening carefully for any sound. Again! It sounded like someone was walking out there---oh, God, was it---no, maybe she had given Santiago a key in her insanity…but now Bernie was up and at the door, pawing it to get out like he usually did when Alex arrived. It couldn’t be Alex, he couldn’t just waltz back into the flat like nothing had---

Graciela let out something along the lines of a whimper at the sight of Alex---Alex, Alexandrakis Joseph Smith standing there, alive and moving and talking and the calm she’d put herself into completely disappeared into an overwhelming sense of shock and relief. She couldn’t move and it was Bernie barking that snapped her out of her state. She was up, she crossed the room faster than she ever moved before and grabbed onto the front of his jacket—this was not his jacket---he looked tired, so tired even behind the sunglasses---

“I’m sorry,” Graciela blurted, her hands going to his face because she had to touch him but she felt like he wasn’t real and had to be delicate, so that he wouldn’t disappear again. Crying, she couldn’t stop crying and he was here and she was so sorry for ever being mean to him and he was---bruised, big bruise, on his cheek, what, what---“Ay---Alex, ay Alex, what—what happened, where---how---what—you’re here, you’re here----”

Alex had put his arms around her when she came over, swallowing roughly and trying his best to not cry. It was constricting his chest a bit, but a little bit extra discomfort really wasn't going to change anything right now. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for freaking out over a stupid book - he'd known she'd tell him when she was ready, it had just hurt… Oy, who cared? It was over, it was done with, he didn't have the energy to talk about it at the moment and he was sure she'd understand. Pulling away from her, he removed the glasses and the jacket, tossing them both to the side with a sharp gasp.

"I just… I just want to sleep…" he muttered. He didn't think he really wanted to talk about it. He wasn't even sure he could. Running a hand through his hair, he walked to one of the bureaus, rifling through it a bit before he pulled out a clean pair of trousers. "Sleep is… Yeah. I… I'm tired." He pulled the ruined shirt off, tossing it to the side and looked at the clean pair of clothes in front of him.

Changing.

Too much effort.

So instead he flopped onto the bed.

He was bruised all over. Graciela watched Alex carefully as he moved to the bed and had to cover her mouth to stop herself from shouting out at the bruises and cuts and---his injuries weren’t sustained from some rogue spells---they had said that----that Greg’s body, it had looked like it had been put under---no, no, no no no, Alex couldn’t have, he’d just been---lost, like Andrea said, not…not…

She had to help him. He was tired, he was cut up and bruised, and she was going to help. Graciela stayed standing in that one spot for a moment longer before turning and going to the bathroom, rummaging through their medicine cabinet for pain killers (ay deus, she didn’t want to exactly give him those, but it wasn’t as if----hm) and potions, some for pain, some for nausea (he was green, in between the black and blue) and filled up a small tub with warm water, slinging some small towels over her shoulder. Alerting his family and friends would come in due time----she had good news to share, it could wait another hour while she took care of her love.

Alex had flopped quite perfectly into the middle of the bed, so Graciela set up everything on the side table and helped him get as comfortable as possible into the pillows, and began to gently wipe the dirt and---Graciela held back a choking noise at the sight of dried blood. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear what had happened, these past few days her mind had filled up with ideas of their own and Gracie knew that anything she could think of…it had probably been worse.

“Here,” she said softly, moving to help lift his head so he could take the pain relief potion, if he wanted it (it tasted so bad, but all it could do was help, sim?) She had a sleeping draught, too; it was good having the chief resident of St. Mungo’s as your brother.

Alex had been drifting in and out of sleep for the few minutes it took her to gather everything together, but the stinging from her cleaning his cuts and bruises made him whimper gently, and left him fully awake. His fist clenched around the sheets a bit, his eyes shutting tight, and his jaw clenched firmly. He knew he needed to be treated but fuck he didn't want to. It just hurt to move and breathe and… swallow. It hurt to swallow. And he noted that as he took a sip of the pain potion, which was rather ironic. "I c…I can't… Hurts…" he rasped, trying to not let out another moan. It felt so weak - maybe that Death Eater had been right…

You don't seem very strong to me, Alex…

He shook his head, his hands going over his ears as though that would help block out the voice. He knew he must have looked crazy but that didn't really matter to him at the moment. "Just… no magic… no more magic…" he muttered, rolling over some to look at her with an almost pleading gaze before he slid his arms around her. He pulled himself close, burying his face into her shoulder, and breathing as deeply as he could given his physical state.

He was quiet for a long while, his breath heavy and uneven, and eventually he let out a slight sob. He had thought he'd lost her, he'd thought he'd never see her face again and yet, here he was, holding her, in their bed, in their apartment. He'd never felt so relieved.

"I love you… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Graciela felt her heart breaking at the look in his eyes and didn’t care that the potion went spilling to the floor as she tentatively wrapped her arms around Alex, shimmying down to lie beside him. Deusito mio, he was covered in blood, dirt, and sweat, but she’d never been happier to press her face into the side of his (softly, but God she wanted to squeeze him tighter than ever before), kissing him gently and lightly on all the bruises she could see and reach (so many, so, so---). Her Alex, her poor Alex, what had he done to deserve this? He was just doing his job---and from what she put together, which was not so hard to figure out from the reports on Greg’s body, and Alex’s desire to leave magic out of the picture…something bad, something really bad had happened and a part of her wanted to yell out and scream, but feeling his breath on her skin reminded her that she needed to just be there for him right now. It was a Godsend that she was even able to see him again, so—no, no time to be angry.

“I love you too,” Graciela whispered, pulling back only far enough to look Alex in the eyes, even though they were both crying and couldn’t see through the tears. She dropped a kiss onto his nose, then lightly on his lips, oh---Alex. “Shh—vas a dormir, go to sleep, shh…”

He nodded softly, his head feeling heavy again, the ache in his body becoming duller as sleep started to settle in. For the first time in the past few days he felt undeniably safe. His head rested against her, his eyes shut, and he allowed himself to breathe deeply. He didn't want to fight anymore - after this, no matter how much they bickered, he'd never let himself go to bed angry at her. He couldn't. It left open too many possibilities of never getting to say he was sorry. He placed a gentle almost weak kiss onto her forehead, breathing in her scent just one more time, before he finally let himself pass out and get some much deserved and much needed rest.