antebellum [t. riddle]

xlv.

december 1944

the following day was spent together. it was sickeningly domestic. 

tom loathed every moment, but he put up with it without audible complaint. in any moment where they weren't discussing something he had an interest in, he could feel the flames of irritation he had been suppressing trying to escape the barriers he had put around it. lashing out at her in anger would set them back several days, but he felt he could be patient no longer. 

there was no need for him to be worried, not that he was. he could be as vile to her as he wanted, and all he had to do was give an apology, and she'd get over it. she always did.

of course, she took notice of this. he was more irritable than usual, and the way he blatantly disregarded anything he didn't find interesting was almost hurtful. he became increasingly dismissive of her from the moment she woke up next to him. 

it was cruel and intentional. they both knew this.

you knew this, she scolded herself. you knew who he was. 

she knew, of course, why he was being irascible, but she had to put herself first. really, he wasn't entitled to anything, but they both knew she was taking too long. all hope of running out the time by avoiding him had diminished, and she knew that this discussion had to come soon. 

get it over with. just do it.

she hadn't realized what actually was going on with him out here. he hadn't taken a proper shower since malfoy manor, only relying on various scourgifying charms to groom himself. she allowed him to use her shower. he did not thank her. 

tentatively, he approached the subject of macusa with her. he had no desire to deal with the subject gently, but she was clearly sensitive about it; a weakness that he did not know she possessed. he didn't like seeing her vulnerable unless it was him who had caused it. if he had to choose between hostile sicaria and petulant sicaria, he'd choose hostile every single time.

"i assume you read the papers yesterday?" he said as the brown owl carrying the rolled-up newspapers flew in through the balcony.

she visibly stiffened. "i did."

he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, crowding her. "and are you familiar with any of the participants?" it was very unlike tom to tiptoe around a question, yet here he was, catering to her foolish sense of mortality. it wasn't as though he was sparing her feelings; he was just smart enough to know that if he prolonged her foolish breakdown any further, he'd have to go to unethical means to get what he wanted.

she didn't look at him, undoing the tie on the newspaper as she spoke. "i am not friends with any of those people. all my... coworkers see me as a volatile child who just so happens to be useful."

the resentment that drenched her tone of voice intrigued him. along with the fact that she didn't immediately shut down the topic, he decided he could probably get a bit of information from her now.

he was about to speak again, but stopped himself as he watched her whole demeanor shift as her eyes darted over the front page of the newspaper. she was reading the headline, and he saw her fear quickly dissolve into an unbridled rage, one that he did not want to be in the path of. 

sicaria balled up her fists at the newspaper. her operation was supposed to be discreet. this was all but announcing macusa's position in the war. the entirety of her mission rested on the fact that no one would suspect an american witch, because america was no longer involved in the war. at least, they weren't supposed to be.