No unwanted questions. That answer made her roll her blue eyes most dramatically as she found it to be an extremely unimpressive response to a question that seriously concerned her. This was her money and certainly not his to just do away with whenever it was convenient for him. Perhaps this was the first time it had happened but who was to say it would be the last especially when tensions were growing in the Wizarding world and the side he was for was getting gutsier in their actions. She wasn't going to pay off every dark and twisty creep he used to keep an auror, or Merlin knew who else, from asking "unwanted questions." Moira loved her husband and she would do anything to keep him safe and happy but there came a point when he would have to exhaust all options before he used her income and source of pride to get his own ass out of bad situations he'd gotten himself into. She was happy to help him this time since it obviously had been dire but they would have to have a talk about just how often she'd be so willing to bail him out. He knew how she felt about his loyalties to You Know Who and she had never and would never support him especially when it constantly put him in danger.

"There were some…Things which needed tied up at the Ministry, and I was in no fit state to go there myself."

She quickly removed her hand from his shoulder, annoyance suddenly flaring up in her where it had laid dormant beneath the thick layer of concern. That was not a suitable explanation for the necessity of her eighty galleons. If she was a more perfect wife she would've been more aware of the fact that it was probably very difficult for him to be using his wife's money and that his pride was probably suffering, but sadly for him she was not perfect and it was her money damn it. He had to ask before taking. He needed to think about her before making such decisions; before running off and almost getting killed.

But that was the point then wasn't it--the real reason for all her anger and questions--he had almost died. It suddenly hit Moira that she could've lost her husband that night and she sank into the chair she'd previously been sitting in, the letter he'd given her slipping to the floor, though she didn't move to pick it up. Twisting her hand slightly she entwined her fingers with Rabastan's, silly tears suddenly slipping down her cheeks.

"You," she began, inhaling sharply as she tried desperately to keep back the tears and a sob. "You have to stop. Please? For me? I can't watch you die…I can't do it." She met his eyes, hers pleading with him though she knew he would never agree; she knew that ridiculous mark on his arm could never go away and he would probably never want it to. "I won't," she murmured, turning away, using the back of her free hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks, her breath uneasy.

Perhaps they both knew she'd never leave him over this issue-that she was still as infatuated with him as she had been the day they first met-but she couldn't help but voice her inner plea, the plea that had been tugging on her heart since the first night he'd been away doing something else that could've gotten him killed or arrested. Moira didn't live her life on the dangerous side and so it was only natural for her to not understand when others did, but this to her wasn't just dangerous it was suicidal…not to mention selfish. If he died then she'd be alone. Did he ever consider that? She adjusted her life to meet his needs; she spent less time away in Paris or elsewhere and she socialized less so they could simply have dinner together. What had he done for her?




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Just because I'm hurting doesn't mean I'm hurt.
Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserved.
No better and no worse.
I just got lost.