bait_backup | In the annals of the empire, did it always look so grey before the fall?

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In the annals of the empire, did it always look so grey before the fall?

*There's a knock at the door. A pounding, really, but Frank's a hard sleeper, and it doesn't do more than nudge him from dead asleep to the odd twilight passing between deeply out and waking. On habit he cracks open an eye to give a cursory glace at the clock; just past six, they don't have to be up for another hour. Already forgetting what had woken him, Frank resettles himself against his wife's warm body, the puppy giving a protesting whimper on his other side, at the movement.

The pounding at the door comes again, more forcefully, and this time it's enough to rouse Frank a bit more properly. It'll wake Neville, if it keeps up like that, and he groans into his pillow.*

Alice -

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*For a second everything reels violently out of kilter as he sits there staring up at Alice. It's all he can do, is sit, and stare, because what she just said is at once how he somehow knew things would one day go, and the thing in the shadows of his thoughts that he never let himself chase down.

And then before it can pull into focus, everything takes a hard left, and Frank's face goes from shock to shut down in the space of a heartbeat. Slipping past Alice, he's on his feet and tracking down his trousers, the lines of his body hard with tension as he shakes his head.*

No.

*There is barely time to recognize the change. Now there's no grief in the room, except Alice's, a feeling she thought she would never experience again - not with Frank.*

Frank?

*But as he goes for his clothes, Alice jumps up. That change wasn't the sudden absence of grief but the abrupt feeling of danger. *

Frank, stop. What are you doing?

*Trousers, then socks - he doesn't bother with a belt, and the t-shirt he slept in is good enough - and then he's rooting around under the bed half-upside down. Alice's question barely registers.*

Where are my shoes?

*Under the bed, but Alice isn't saying. Instead she moves between them and him.*

Frank, Where are you going? Frank?

*She keeps saying his name over and over, as if it belonged to her now.*

*Alice tries to block under the bed, therefore they are under the bed. Frank straightens and mechanically, too logically simply goes around to the other side of it and crouches down there to try and fish them out. He just lets her keep saying his name - doesn't matter, really, it's just background noise, until it grates on a nerve that's just been shot to hell already, and his head snaps up over the edge of the bed. He's got his shoes.*

The flat, I've gotta go to the flat.

No.

Frank, no.

*There's no point arguing, it's just going to waste time. Frank doesn't answer, sitting on Alice's side of the bed with his back to her as he puts on his shoes, as he stands and looks around for his wand.*

*Grabbing the wand off Frank's nightstand, Alice sits down on the bed.*

You can't do this.

Please.

...Give me my wand.

*It's not a command, not really, just a flat statement of what he wants, but the hollowness in his face and voice is worse anyway.*

*And it's his voice and face that make Alice's hand open. She doesn't mean to, she certainly doesn't want to, but now the change is so real and so stark that she has to give in.*

Frank...don't. They're gone.

*A muscle in his jaw twitches at that last word, but he doesn't react past that, he can't. He's got to see first before he'll believe it's even true, and words like that don't belong until he's got proof of the impossible. Rounding the bed again, he takes his wand and goes outside without another word, past the safety of the wards. It's a fine morning, flawless blue sky and the front garden a riot of color, but Frank sees none of it as he turns on the spot and vanishes, appearing an instant later in the corridor outside the flat.*

*This is not how John Dawlish ever wants to start his day. Bad enough to be called in at a time when he's usually slouched over a bar, but for this...

The fraternity in the office means the world to Dawlish, he's unapologetically stated it in several (mostly offensive) ways before. To see two of his brothers go down, even if they were pussies, is a real blow.

When Frank arrives, it's no shock. And Dawlish holds their front door open without so much as a word of warning, only a look of haggard commiseration.*

*That look is warning enough, and confirmation enough, but Frank still has to see. He owes them that. He owes them that and so much more than he can ever begin to make up for, but this, at least, he can do, even if it breaks him to do it.

Stowing his wand in his jacket pocket, Frank steps into the flat. It's at once intimately familiar (how many nights had he slept on that couch before he'd married Alice?) and sickeningly wrong, even out of sight of any blood or bodies. There's a coldness to it, now, a sense that a light's been snuffed out. It's a feeling he knows too well from crime scenes, that ineffable knowing that a building is no longer a home, but merely a place where things and belongings and objects are, that used to mean something to someone. It's a mausoleum now. He knows, a step inside the door. He could stop now, go home and cry and let Alice hold him, and part of him wants to, knows it would be safer for his state of mind and kinder to his wellbeing. He knows it. But the part that knows is caged in on all sides by shaky terror and brittle rage that's riding his skin just under the surface, and a feeling at the back of his throat like he's about to be sick. He probably is. It still doesn't' stop him.*

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In the annals of the empire, did it always look so grey before the fall?

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