the elegant rachel m. corner (malengled) wrote in valesco,
@ 2012-02-27 19:53:00

Entry tags:

Gabriel
Everything was different. Different faces, different names, different house, different friends. Sometimes Rachel questioned if it had been such a good decision to come back here, before remembering three very young faces that needed her just a bit more than she needed to be selfish. Their family might have been pieced together, but seeing Amissa with Gabriel, how Michael was with her—really, everything about Benjamin, told her if they'd done one thing, it was raise them well. Even lovingly, one might say, which just about struck her dumb. Rachel knew she had to be here, but it still felt like she was some kind of intruder, and it was not a feeling she cared for. It was a feeling she was reminded of every time she made to pass by the master wing, as she was doing just now. The double-doors at the end of the hallway at once beckoned to her and repelled her. Since leaving St. Mungo's, Rachel had been in the room once, to collect her clothes. But the idea of staying there, in a place of such intimacy, physical and otherwise, was unpalatable? Macabre. Nerve-wracking. Certainly nothing that would appease Rachel.

But she found herself walking toward them, regardless. As far as she knew, it had been empty since… before, and the urge to look at this setting of an unremembered life was irrepressible. A glance at the grandfather clock told her she had time before anyone else was due home. Unable to deny the tug toward the room any longer, she slipped through the ominous double doors.

She started with the wardrobe, tapping on the back, digging through pockets, checking compartments on the sides and bottom. Every object on the vanity was thoroughly examined. Curtains peered behind, the mattress of the bed she was trying hard to ignore the existence of lifted, the pillows patted down, under the frame checked. What was Rachel looking for? She didn't know. Would she remember something if she physically touched every aspect of this gaping hole in her memory that she could? Nothing jogged her mind, yet everything somehow seemed familiar. With a shout of frustration, she slapped the top of the bureau and braced herself against it, closing her eyes. There were gaps everywhere. But the only one she wanted filled was the one that showed her how this was where her life ended up. Wearily, she rubbed her temples and opened her eyes, her gaze falling squarely on the bureau opposite her.

Was this wrong, and an intrusion of privacy? Absolutely. But Rachel's sense of propriety and shame had often taken a place of lesser precedence in her life, and there was no reason to change that now… The aggravation and burning curiosity to learn something, anything about Rachel Moira Corner was too strong to deny, and perhaps a little more about the mysterious man she shared a life with. So she rooted through everything she thought was his. Wardrobe, nightstand, bookshelf, before turning on that bureau. Drawer after drawer, she pawed through the contents, finding Gabriel Corner was neat, but not anally so. His taste was of high quality, which she'd previously discerned. And none of the belongings she was digging through was an ounce helpful.

Her fingers stumbled over a small object stuffed in the back of the top drawer. Rachel pulled it out with only mild interest, until she saw it was unmistakably a jewelry box. Pausing only for a moment, she hastily opened it, just barely stifling a gasp. "What in the…" Rachel breathed, thinking her eyes must be falling out of her head. Stunned, she hesitantly raised a finger to ghost over the shining stones, unable to take her eyes off the ring sitting prettily on a little bed of satin. Was this the sort of thing men casually kept in sock drawers?

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coverstory
2012-02-29 12:11 am UTC (link)

Would it be terrible of him to complain about his lack of sleep and back pains? Yes, it would be awfully terrible, but he couldn't possibly ignore it. Gabriel sluggishly exited the floo and stood in the center of the den before he picked up his feet again. He draped his cloak over the back of a chair and dusted himself off, wondering what time it was even though he knew it was early. He had barely been able to get through the first hour of reports today, and Octavius had not even given him the chance to defend himself when he told him to go home and rest. Gabriel would not have even had the energy to fight his manager, and here he was, back home feeling guilty that he was half hoping it was empty.

No, it wasn't that he didn't---Gabriel had been sleeping in Michael's room, which was helpful to his son because of the change in Rachel's demeanor, but it was uncomfortable for a plethora of reasons. The couch was too small, the boy liked to talk in his sleep, and all Gabriel could think about as he went to bed was how he was only here because his wife could not recall who he was and needed time, and space, to herself. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself from thinking and dreading and extrapolating the fear that Rachel's memory would never come back. Gabriel did as the healers explained, slowly try to get Rachel back into some sort of routine, but with each passing day with no progress just made him feel like he was useless in this cause. Or even worse---what if there was no getting better for Rachel? What if getting better just meant finding her own niche again that did not involve him?

And so began the cycle of depression Gabriel had found himself in. He looked at his children and watched Rachel with them; sometimes he saw a smile light up her face when one of the little ones did something sweet or kind, and it made his heart thud. Maybe she'd give him one of those smiles again one day, but he reminded himself that it had been over two weeks since her memory had been lost and he still felt like a complete stranger to her. He knew that wasn't a long time, but---it hurt like it had been a thousand.

Gabriel climbed the stairs, shutting his eyes and not realizing that he walked straight to the master bedroom to lie down instead of Michael's room. His hand ran through his hair, and he noticed for the first time its length because of how it was beginning to curl. He probably looked a wreck, and was about to let out a great yawn when he opened his eyes and spotted Rachel by his dresser. Gabriel froze in the doorway, unsure if he should leave and let her be, but something kept him rooted to the spot.

"Are you all right?" he asked, feeling uncomfortable and a bit embarrassed about his unkempt appearance. Or was it because he was entering the master bedroom that he had not stepped foot in since her return from the hospital, let alone be in there with her?

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malengled
2012-02-29 01:39 am UTC (link)

The sound of his voice had her jumping, whirling around, fumbling with the ring box as if to hide it before nerves made clumsy of her fingers and she nearly dropped it. Why was he home so soon?

"Oh, my—" Rachel pressed a fist to her racing heart, unsure of if she should be contrite at being caught, annoyed at having been taken by surprise, or just… confused, as she always seemed to be now. "You startled to me," she said, and though it was a statement, sounded a bit uncertain. Something about him made her do that on reflex, and that response was not something she cared for. It was the same thing that had spooked her about him in the hospital. As she studied him for a moment, she couldn't say his demeanor was all that threatening—although, perhaps now wasn't the best time to judge. Gabriel looked quite wild now, but there was an air of civility and reserve around him, always. In fact, Rachel had a difficult time equating him with the good-looking boy of her younger acquaintance. Now, he was refined, hardened, more robust—carried himself differently too, she'd thought. A more mature stride. But then, the last time she'd seen him had been when she was all of sixteen, in the throes of life at Hogwarts.

Well, no… that wasn't right at all, was it? The last time she had seen Gabriel was the day this dark magic wound leeching her memories had been inflicted. This same train of thought must have been run over a hundred times in the last two weeks, but it was the first time she felt the sadness like a blow. There was so much missing to this story, she despaired at ever filling in all the blanks.

Clearing her throat, she chose to ignore his question, and instead held out the box for him, saying, "Either your lover has excellent taste, or I ruined a good surprise for myself," realizing she was only somewhat joking. Really, what did she know? Her eyes fell from his face again, studying the intricate pattern of the rug in front of the bed she was most certainly not acknowledging now.

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coverstory
2012-03-01 03:07 am UTC (link)

Her joke was lost on him, which was something that he should not have allowed to happen, but in his weakened mental state Gabriel could not begin to think that this teasing was something of a good thing. He blinked a few times, feeling his face grow hot as he spotted the ring box in her hands. It had been hidden in a much better place than his drawer, for he'd known his wife well enough to know that come the holidays there was to be a bit of snooping going about. After the accident Gabriel had nearly presented it to her in a desperate need to make her feel better, but then the idea of something as extravagant as the diamond ring he'd ordered months ago might send her fleeing had struck, and he slipped it into the drawer. You most certainly did not buy a present like that for simply anyone.

His lover. Gabriel had never put Rachel in that light and it bothered him that she'd worded her comment that way. The seemingly casual comment felt unnatural, but she looked like she meant it to be funny. It was confusing---his Rachel would never bring up even the slightest idea of a mistress, she grew silently enraged whenever he brought up Greta Catchlove's mere existence or listened in on stories of girlfriend's past. Her refusal to acknowledge her jealousy was something he not so secretly adored and even craved. Knowing that Rachel could grow so fiercely possessive of him made his heart pound through his chest.

Maybe he was over thinking it. Maybe she was just trying to be nice for spoiling the surprise. Gabriel stepped further into the room, moving to sit on the end of the bed to remove his shoes.

"I meant to give it to you on Valentine's day," he said with a light smile. Gabriel pushed his shoes under the bed. He rubbed his neck, feeling sore all over now that he was sitting. "Do you like it?"

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malengled
2012-03-04 11:24 pm UTC (link)

"I d—it's… lovely." Lovely was not the word, but as pale a substitute as she was willing to give. It was just to her taste, down to the shade of the pink. She found it hard to believe he had simply been lucky in picking it out. Mulling over this intended gesture of Gabriel's, she thought about the sort of person he must be to gift so lavishly. The sort of people they must have been together for him to choose this present for her. The sort of person he was for him to keep it hidden after.

By all accounts, on the surface, Rachel Corner seemed… happy. It must be some sort of testament to the discontent of her life, that Rachel treated this revelation with suspicion, rather than relief. She wanted to poke holes wherever she could, find out what the truth was in this story, the parts that couldn't be seen. The hidden parts. If she had been anyone else, even any other version of herself, she might have felt sad that her first reaction was distrust. But Rachel knew where she had come from.

I do not understand you, she wanted to say. I do not understand how we were together, but even if she had been the sort of person to ask these questions, they seemed to stick in her throat. Swallowing as if to dislodge the figurative lump, she smoothed her hands down the skirt of her robes and tried not to pay too much attention to the fact that he was sitting on the bed she'd taken great pains to ignore. It was peculiar, to say the least, to be in a bedroom with a man who knew one's self, all of one's self, while that one knew nothing, nothing at all, of the other.

Turning away from him and facing the dresser, she traced the rim of a vase, noting her finger came away clean. "You know, I can't even say if I had a gift for you."

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