Sick of the dark ways we march to ...
Ryan’s head was a tangle of thoughts and emotions. After the last case he and Rose had closed, it was no surprise, really. He often had to get the dredges of cases like that out in the only way he’d found effective. Violence.
Aurors got to go after the dark wizards and investigate the criminal groups. The political factions, the international smuggling rings, the organizations. There was a lot of really sick shite they saw, but Hit Wizards got to see the base of humanity on a regular basis. The rapists, the child abusers, the domestic violence. They were the wizarding equivalents of the Muggle police. It was the same shite, essentially, but where Muggles had guns, the dredges of wizarding society had wands. Tricked wards. A plethora of magical weapons.
Not that a magical child predator was much different than a Muggle one. The children in question still ended up hurt, scarred, and scared.
The intensity of Ryan’s strikes on the punching bag increased. Thud, thud, thud. This one had run when they’d come for him. Ryan had had the satisfaction of bringing him down. But now the shitebag was in a cell waiting for trial; he deserved to be beaten to the pulp Ryan was attempting to make of the swinging sack before him. Thud, thud, thud.
The pounding of a training dummy greeted Natalie’s ears as she entered the nearly-deserted MLE gym. Most officials who weren’t on assignment were home -- it was well past closing time. Normally, she would have been one of such, but paperwork from her latest case had kept her shackled to her desk instead of other, more pleasurable endeavors -- such as drinking or finding someone to work off her energy with. Preferably naked.
Her eyes lighted on a familiar face. Ryan Zeller, hit wizard, was the one trying to beat the stuffing out of the leather sack in front of him. She recognized the tautness in his body, the way his focus was completely narrowed on the bag that swung to and fro when he punched it. She’d worked out her aggression in a similar manner too many times to count.
Natalie’s lips twitched. He wasn’t naked, but it was likely he’d be amenable to channeling his energy at her. Since going solo, it’d been harder to find a steady sparring partner.
And sometimes, making another person physically hurt was the only thing that would help. Twisted, but true.
“That’s not going to help,” she said by way of greeting, her footsteps muffled by the padded training mats beneath her trainers. She nodded at the punching bag, quirking a brow when brown eyes slid back to the sweaty and fit bloke glaring at it.
"Maybe not," Ryan grunted between blows to the swinging leather bag. His muscles burned; the short bursts of energy from each hit and the full pain in his hands and wrists from pounding the unforgiving surface was therapeutic, if not a cure-all.
His focus didn't waiver from his current target, but Ryan knew who was shadowing him just to the left. He'd seen Auror McDonald on the mats after hours more than once as he passed through. It irritated him that there was knowing in her voice. It was irrational, but he didn't want to hear what he 'needed' from the voice of experience; he heard it often enough as one of the youngest Hit Wizards in the department.
Ryan knew what he needed. He needed to be doling out a bit of street justice to the sick fuck he and Rosie had brought in, needed to see him bleed.
Natalie rolled her eyes and jerked her head towards the mats. “C’mon, Zeller.” He didn’t need the bag; it would help blow off some steam, but it wouldn’t be enough. He needed to be swinging at something that swung back. Pulling off her shirt, she tossed it to the side of the mat and reached into her bag for the fingerless leather gloves she used for sparring.
She tossed her bag against the wall and turned, waiting for the Hit Wizard to join him. They were only about a year or so overdue for their previously discussed sparring session.
Ryan’s rhythm didn’t waiver -- pound, pound, pound -- but he could feel her eyes on him, and after several more solid thumps to the punching bag, he finally stopped. His breathing was heavier than normal, and his shoulders heaved as he stared at the bag gently swinging.
It was another long moment before he finally swung his gaze toward the blonde woman baiting him to the mats. His expression was hard; not friendly, but not hostile either.
He understood what she was doing, and perhaps if he was in a better frame of mind, he might appreciate it, or at least the thought. But Ryan didn’t fight his own team when he was mad; it didn’t sit right with him to take his anger out on a person who he fought side by side with. There was a fine line to be walked between training and violence, and he wouldn’t ever use the latter on anyone but those who deserved it. He’d seen too much, remembered too much from his own past, to put himself in a situation where he became one of the monsters, even just to blow off steam. He refused to go there.
It was why he was alone, why Rose had left him to decimate an inanimate object. But Auror McDonald didn’t know him like his sister knew him -- few did.
He stirred from his stillness then, shaking off his thoughts and the darker emotions, both literally and figuratively. Ryan shook his head. “Not tonight, McDonald. If you’re up for a pint though, that’s what I’m for next.”
Natalie battered down the flash of irritation at his rejection. Since Finchy’s departure from the department, she’d gotten enough of a shunning that she didn’t want to spar with other MLE employees. That she was even offering to beat the shite out of a junior hit wizard was no small deal, and here he was turning her down.
“Fucking tease,” she commented dryly, summoning her shirt to pull it back over her head, covering most of her tattoos back up as she did. “I don’t take my shirt off for every fucker in this department, you know.” Summoning her bag, she said, “For that, you’re buying the whiskey.”
“Sure.” Ryan didn’t care. It’d been a long day and now that he had stopped moving, he was feeling the strain he’d put on his muscles. He knew Natalie was irritated - he could see it in the jerky way she tugged her shirt back on - but that wasn’t his problem right now. He didn’t invite her to join him in his dark cloud.
After wiping the sweat from his brow, pulling an old hooded jumper over his head and a worn leather jacket over that, Ryan collected his bag and headed toward the exit. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at the blonde Auror. “Going to Nag’s Head. Still interested?” It was a dirty, irreputable pub in Knockturn Alley where the drinks were strong and people left you alone.
Natalie rolled her eyes as she crossed the training room. “If you’re trying to get rid of me,” she said, pausing next to him in the doorway, “you’re going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that.” By the standards of places she frequented on assignment, the Nag’s Head was practically high tea at the Ritz.
“If I was trying to get rid of you,” he said as he started walking toward the lifts, “then I wouldn’t have invited you to come with me.” He shrugged. “Some people don’t like Nag’s. But they make strong drinks and people leave you alone. Same can’t be said for The Leaky or The Shed.” If he went to one of the Diagon pubs, it was not a possibility, but a surety, that he would see someone he knew. Ryan wasn’t in the mood to smile and talk about a lot of nothing tonight.
“Sounds perfect.” She’d been there many times. Sometimes on the clock, but oftentimes not. As the lift door slid open, she gestured towards the open compartment. “Lead the way, Zeller.”
Aurors got to go after the dark wizards and investigate the criminal groups. The political factions, the international smuggling rings, the organizations. There was a lot of really sick shite they saw, but Hit Wizards got to see the base of humanity on a regular basis. The rapists, the child abusers, the domestic violence. They were the wizarding equivalents of the Muggle police. It was the same shite, essentially, but where Muggles had guns, the dredges of wizarding society had wands. Tricked wards. A plethora of magical weapons.
Not that a magical child predator was much different than a Muggle one. The children in question still ended up hurt, scarred, and scared.
The intensity of Ryan’s strikes on the punching bag increased. Thud, thud, thud. This one had run when they’d come for him. Ryan had had the satisfaction of bringing him down. But now the shitebag was in a cell waiting for trial; he deserved to be beaten to the pulp Ryan was attempting to make of the swinging sack before him. Thud, thud, thud.
The pounding of a training dummy greeted Natalie’s ears as she entered the nearly-deserted MLE gym. Most officials who weren’t on assignment were home -- it was well past closing time. Normally, she would have been one of such, but paperwork from her latest case had kept her shackled to her desk instead of other, more pleasurable endeavors -- such as drinking or finding someone to work off her energy with. Preferably naked.
Her eyes lighted on a familiar face. Ryan Zeller, hit wizard, was the one trying to beat the stuffing out of the leather sack in front of him. She recognized the tautness in his body, the way his focus was completely narrowed on the bag that swung to and fro when he punched it. She’d worked out her aggression in a similar manner too many times to count.
Natalie’s lips twitched. He wasn’t naked, but it was likely he’d be amenable to channeling his energy at her. Since going solo, it’d been harder to find a steady sparring partner.
And sometimes, making another person physically hurt was the only thing that would help. Twisted, but true.
“That’s not going to help,” she said by way of greeting, her footsteps muffled by the padded training mats beneath her trainers. She nodded at the punching bag, quirking a brow when brown eyes slid back to the sweaty and fit bloke glaring at it.
"Maybe not," Ryan grunted between blows to the swinging leather bag. His muscles burned; the short bursts of energy from each hit and the full pain in his hands and wrists from pounding the unforgiving surface was therapeutic, if not a cure-all.
His focus didn't waiver from his current target, but Ryan knew who was shadowing him just to the left. He'd seen Auror McDonald on the mats after hours more than once as he passed through. It irritated him that there was knowing in her voice. It was irrational, but he didn't want to hear what he 'needed' from the voice of experience; he heard it often enough as one of the youngest Hit Wizards in the department.
Ryan knew what he needed. He needed to be doling out a bit of street justice to the sick fuck he and Rosie had brought in, needed to see him bleed.
Natalie rolled her eyes and jerked her head towards the mats. “C’mon, Zeller.” He didn’t need the bag; it would help blow off some steam, but it wouldn’t be enough. He needed to be swinging at something that swung back. Pulling off her shirt, she tossed it to the side of the mat and reached into her bag for the fingerless leather gloves she used for sparring.
She tossed her bag against the wall and turned, waiting for the Hit Wizard to join him. They were only about a year or so overdue for their previously discussed sparring session.
Ryan’s rhythm didn’t waiver -- pound, pound, pound -- but he could feel her eyes on him, and after several more solid thumps to the punching bag, he finally stopped. His breathing was heavier than normal, and his shoulders heaved as he stared at the bag gently swinging.
It was another long moment before he finally swung his gaze toward the blonde woman baiting him to the mats. His expression was hard; not friendly, but not hostile either.
He understood what she was doing, and perhaps if he was in a better frame of mind, he might appreciate it, or at least the thought. But Ryan didn’t fight his own team when he was mad; it didn’t sit right with him to take his anger out on a person who he fought side by side with. There was a fine line to be walked between training and violence, and he wouldn’t ever use the latter on anyone but those who deserved it. He’d seen too much, remembered too much from his own past, to put himself in a situation where he became one of the monsters, even just to blow off steam. He refused to go there.
It was why he was alone, why Rose had left him to decimate an inanimate object. But Auror McDonald didn’t know him like his sister knew him -- few did.
He stirred from his stillness then, shaking off his thoughts and the darker emotions, both literally and figuratively. Ryan shook his head. “Not tonight, McDonald. If you’re up for a pint though, that’s what I’m for next.”
Natalie battered down the flash of irritation at his rejection. Since Finchy’s departure from the department, she’d gotten enough of a shunning that she didn’t want to spar with other MLE employees. That she was even offering to beat the shite out of a junior hit wizard was no small deal, and here he was turning her down.
“Fucking tease,” she commented dryly, summoning her shirt to pull it back over her head, covering most of her tattoos back up as she did. “I don’t take my shirt off for every fucker in this department, you know.” Summoning her bag, she said, “For that, you’re buying the whiskey.”
“Sure.” Ryan didn’t care. It’d been a long day and now that he had stopped moving, he was feeling the strain he’d put on his muscles. He knew Natalie was irritated - he could see it in the jerky way she tugged her shirt back on - but that wasn’t his problem right now. He didn’t invite her to join him in his dark cloud.
After wiping the sweat from his brow, pulling an old hooded jumper over his head and a worn leather jacket over that, Ryan collected his bag and headed toward the exit. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at the blonde Auror. “Going to Nag’s Head. Still interested?” It was a dirty, irreputable pub in Knockturn Alley where the drinks were strong and people left you alone.
Natalie rolled her eyes as she crossed the training room. “If you’re trying to get rid of me,” she said, pausing next to him in the doorway, “you’re going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that.” By the standards of places she frequented on assignment, the Nag’s Head was practically high tea at the Ritz.
“If I was trying to get rid of you,” he said as he started walking toward the lifts, “then I wouldn’t have invited you to come with me.” He shrugged. “Some people don’t like Nag’s. But they make strong drinks and people leave you alone. Same can’t be said for The Leaky or The Shed.” If he went to one of the Diagon pubs, it was not a possibility, but a surety, that he would see someone he knew. Ryan wasn’t in the mood to smile and talk about a lot of nothing tonight.
“Sounds perfect.” She’d been there many times. Sometimes on the clock, but oftentimes not. As the lift door slid open, she gestured towards the open compartment. “Lead the way, Zeller.”