He was angry now. Her words had not been taken seriously. He must have thought that she was lying, or bluffing, just to piss him off and rile him up. He had thought that he would find knickers where there had been none. And now he was angry. Really angry, this time. He had a tight grip on her hair now, and with their height difference, towering over her was an easy thing for him to do. But she was not afraid of him. She could never actually be afraid of him. She knew that he would never hurt her. Not like that, anyway. Hitting her, letting his anger show through in that way... it was not something that she worried about with him. Not now, not ever. Even after everything that had happened and everything that he had done, she knew that he was not capable of hurting her like that.

No, even with him having her at his mercy, even with him obviously being angry, she did not think that he was going to hit her or do anything of the sort. He could pull her hair and make her look up at him, he could even bruise her hip with the strength of his grip. That did not frighten her. That was no different than what had happened in dozens of their fights over the years. They usually ended with her drawing blood in some way or another too. It just so happened that he had the upperhand just then. But that did not mean that he would strike her.

That was the only reason that she could still argue with him while his hand still pulled at her hair. She wasn't afraid of this situation escalating beyond their control. She wasn't afraid of anything happening that would actually frighten her. He could hold her like this all night, hair in a vice grip, pressed back against the counter, and she would still yell at him until her voice was hoarse. "Because you didn't care! You hurt me and you didn't fucking care!" And he hadn't. There was just no way in her mind that he could care about her and do what he had done.

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Her words were a slap in his face. They made his eyes shoot wide. No. Titania had to know better than what she was saying. Of course, he cared. Of course, he did. He had never meant to hurt her. He had never meant to ruin the life they had together. That was the last thing he had ever wanted. 

The man did not think his actions through. Instinct took over. He leaned in, closing the gap between them. Art's lips found hers and the wizard kissed her with all the passion he felt for her. Marcus, be damned. Wendy, be damned. Squib flu, be damned. He had loved Titania for twenty years. He loved her still. She was his wife. Words were not enough. He had to show her what he felt. He needed her to have a glimpse of the truth.

"I have ALWAYS FUCKING CARED!" The kiss had been hard. But it had not been enough. He was still furious. How could she think he did not care? He wanted to believe that it was just something she was trying to tell herself to justify running him out of their house... 

How could the woman be so blind? How could she truly believe the rubbish she was saying? It was obvious she did. This was not flirting and play fighting. This was yelling in the kitchen off the cuff, no time to think up a lie sort of truth. She believed he did not care about her. 

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She didn't know what reaction she would get from him at her words. Titania didn't know what he would think about it, or if it would piss him off more. It wasn't something that she had said to piss him off on purpose this time. It was something that she had said, because it was how she felt. It was the way that he had made her feel. Without care about her or the rest of his family, he had unleashed an epidemic that had gotten the people that he was supposed to take care of sick. He had risked getting sent to Azkaban for the rest of his life, leaving his family behind. That had hurt. Knowing what he had risked, knowing what he had done, and doing it anyway had hurt her.

Those words were the truth. More truthful than she had been when she had kicked him out, as she had mostly just been giving him the silent treatment by that point. He hadn't even deserved her anger. She hadn't even wanted to look at him, let alone speak to him. It was nearly more truthful than she had been to herself. What she had not expected was him kissing her, and her body reacted, kissing him back without even having to think about it.

And then biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Of course. He pulled away and it was clear that he was still angry. But so was she. "You have a damn funny way of showing it, then!"

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He pushed her hip back, putting the slightest amount of distance between them, as his other hand fought its way out of the tangles of her hair. She had been kissing him, right up to the moment she had decided his mouth needed to be flooded with the taste of metal. Shit. He sucked his lip into his mouth. That shit fucking hurt. He was glaring at her as he nursed the wound she had inflicted on him. 

"What do you think I spend all my time doing?" He bellowed. Disbelief dominated the man's expression. Art shook his head. His hand was still on her hip. He squeezed--hard--trying to reign in all the things he felt. He drew a centering breath. It was difficult to calm himself enough to explain anything with rationality. 

He nursed his lip, swallowing down the blood. "I did not mean for you to get sick," Art said finally. It was true. He had thought she might be immune. It had been a possibility. It just had not worked out that way. 

The man had meant to have safety measures in place for his wife. He had not told her about them before, but he found himself explaining it now. "I thought I would have the vaccine in time. I really did. I did not meant to cost you anything." This had never been something to punish his wife. His family, sure. Society, yes... But not her. He had never wanted to hurt Titania. It was the greatest regret of this grand achievement. He believed he had a vaccine now...but that did her no good. None at all. 

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She was angry. She had been angry, but for the first time she was letting that out. For the first time, she was saying everything that she had been thinking for months and months. They had been bottled in this entire time. She'd had no one to talk to about it. No one that could understand. No one that she could trust with this information. She didn't even feel like she could tell her parents or her brother what had happened. Even though she loved them, even though they were family, she couldn't tell them what Art had done. She had been alone in this. There had been nobody that she could talk to and nothing at all that she could say.

Usually, she had no problem with making it very clear how she was feeling when she was mad at her husband. She couldn't even help it. That redhead temper came out and there was no holding it back. She had never seen a reason to. Fighting was cathartic. It cleared the air. But this time around, before she had kicked Art out, she had been giving him the cold shoulder. Maybe because she knew that arguing would lead to them making up. Even now, it was hard to hold her ground when she was standing so close to him. It had been such a long time since she had been around him.

He wanted his words to be enough. But she was still mad. How could she not be? "But you did! You released it anyway, without a vaccine, and you can't do that and act like you give a damn about me!" He had cost her nearly her entire career. It was just a string of good luck that the Falcons owner kept her on as coach -- a coach did not technically need magic, but her being ground-bound definitely caused some issues. And more than that, flying had always been important to her. It relaxed her, calmed her down when she was upset, and he had taken all of that away from her.

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Art wanted to make his wife understand. He wanted to make her see. But nothing he said seemed to change anything. The fire still flared in her eyes. He felt the compulsion to shake her. As if that could make her understand, make her see. She knew how the world was. She knew how messed up the purist subjugation of muggleborns and abuse of squibs was. She knew why this had mattered so much to him. She knew the guilt he carried over having magic when his twin had gone without. She knew! So, why couldn't she understand? 

He shook his head, objecting to what she had said "No!" He huffed in frustration. "I thought there was no time!" He could see even as he offered the explanation that it meant nothing to his wife. "I just could not let it all be for nothing." There was a desperation in his voice now. It mirrored the panic he had felt in those days after his twin had vanished. 

"I thought they had Wendy; I thought they would be coming for me," his voice was pleading then. His face had fallen--and all the emotion he felt was reflected on his features. "I couldn't just go to prison for nothing, Titania." Couldn't she see this was the greatest achievement of his life? It was not supposed to destroy her. It was not supposed to hurt her. That had never been his intention. It hadn't. But this thing that he had done--it was still something truly marvelous and incredible to have accomplished.  

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She didn't care what flawed logic he used to explain why what he had done was necessary. He was wrong. It was wrong. There was no justifying harming innocent people. There was no way that he could make that okay. Sure, there were people that might have deserved this. She could admit that. The purists that were subjugating Muggleborns -- there was certainly some poetic justice to them being made no better than... not even a Muggleborn that they hated so much, but a Squib. Practically a Muggle. But did she think that meant that purists were coming to some big revelation that they were not better than the people around them? No. Of course not. They were always going to think that they were superior. It was engrained in them since birth. It did not solve anything. And even if she was hurt that Art didn't care what he had done to her, in the bigger picture, he didn't care what he had done to thousands of innocent people.

No matter what she said, she could just tell. She could tell that he didn't feel bad about it. She could tell that he still felt like it was the right thing to do. She didn't know how he could rationalize that. A sigh fell from her lips. "And what if they had come for you? Did you even think what that would do to us?! If they had tossed you in prison and thrown away the key?!" It was something that she didn't even want to picture. Something that she couldn't even imagine, even after months separated. Him in Azkaban was not something that she even wanted to think about. But he had not cared about leaving them behind. "No. You didn't think about that at all. Me, the kids--visiting you in Azkaban. That's the choice you made. For you. For Wendy. Not for us."

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"Of course I did," he interjected the answer as soon as she posed the question about considering their family. Art  had been heartbroken at the thought that he might lose his family... but he had never thought that Titania would make the choice herself to take them away from him. He knew there had been a risk with releasing the squib flu that he would be found out... but he never thought this would be what the future held. 

He let his hand fall off her hip. She could not understand. She did not understand. Maybe she did not even want to. She thought his was evil. The woman just could not see how this had been justice. Maybe not in the micro sense-- but in the macro one, certainly. 

Because of that he had done, the muggleborn registration was over. Because of what he had done, the Death Eaters were losing power. It was not just about getting back at his parents and siblings. It was about upsetting the bullshit order the purists had put in place. It was justice. It was good--not evil. It made people appreciate magic. It made people see that purebloods were no better than muggleborns or muggles or squibs. 

He shook his head. Anger shifted in his features towards sadness hinted with disappointment. "You just don't understand," he took a step away from her. Art did not have the words to reach the witch. He did not know how. That broke his heart. She was his wife. There was nothing he should have not been able to say to her.  But it felt like he could talk himself blue in the face, and it just would not matter. She just did not see the epidemic the way he did. 

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He had been angry when this conversation had first started. So had she. They had always been good at fighting, and better at making up. But she could sense that changing in him the further this conversation went on. He was still angry, but she could see other emotions coming through as well. Emotions that made this harder. She preferred anger, at this point. It was easier. Words that were finally being said had caused that shift. She could see it in his eyes, and she felt the absence of his hand on her hip immediately. More than she should.

Her eyes fell shut at the space put between them. She still felt the sear of his hard kiss against her lips. It shouldn't be this way. It shouldn't need to be, but it was. Why was that so hard? Why was being around him so bloody hard?

She tried to collect her thoughts, though they cycled quickly from anger to overwhelming sadness. Anger was easier, though. It was easier to admit to, and easier for her to let out. He had come back in here like he had a right to be sitting in her kitchen. He had judged her for going on a date, when he had no right to have an opinion on that. He had no right to be mad at her after everything that he had done. If she wanted to go out on a date, and enjoy the orchestra for a night to get her mind off of the absolute mess that the rest of her life was, then she deserved to do that. "No, you don't understand." Her eyes opened again then. "I have loved you for twenty years. But I didn't recognize you anymore and I couldn't bear a second more of that. You don't get to come in here and get mad at me because another man had his hand up my dress. You lost that right." The moment that he had put his quest for justice above the people who loved him, he lost the right to judge what she did to try to get over him.

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"Bullshit," The Buchanan huffed out the word. The man had his brow furrowed. His usually warm eyes were hard and narrowed at his wife. He was staggering back. His head shook from left to right. Everything about his body language rejected what she had said. Everything about his demeanor screamed no. 

"Fuck that," he spat. "Don't act like you are the only one who ever loved in this house." Art's voice was thick with resentment. It was clear she had offended him. He would not let the notion stand, not for one second that their marriage had been all her. He had been there, too. His love for her had not wavered--not even when he was obsessing in the lab with his twin. Not for a second. 

"I have loved you just as long as you loved me..." He had to take it further, "...and the difference is I did not stop." His voice had grown stronger again--and his expression was challenging her. But he wasn't done. Not even close. He spoke with passion and truth as he made a reference to her affair. "I didn't run to some pretty face and warm bed just because my wife could not handle what I had done."

Dark eyes narrowed at the woman, his tone shifting to accusatory as he spat: "You decided our marriage was over. Not me. YOU DECIDED THAT." He was yelling again, but he could not even help it. This had needed to be said for so long.  Now that he was talking, he just couldn't stop. He didn't want. He wanted her to hear what he had to say, what he had felt. 

"You did not even talk to me. You didn't try to understand. You were just too fucking angry about what you lost." His head shook again. "You decided you needed to take from me, too."  His voice dropped quieter as he spoke of her maliciousness. The pain she caused was there for her to enjoy on his face. If she wanted to see, all she had to was look.

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