[Hampton-on-Sea] We're poisoned by these fairy tales [Cezary]

Stupid. She was so utterly and completely stupid.

How could she not have seen this before? No, that was the wrong question, because she had seen the signs. They'd all been there. How could she have ignored her instinct like that? Blinkered herself to the truth? Now she was thinking back over all the late nights and 'work trips'. She'd never asked. Not because she hadn't suspected... but because she hadn't wanted to know. She'd made herself blind to it.

Cezary had owled and told her that he'd be working late. It happened a lot, and Moira knew that Capps was busy. But this night had been different. She'd spent all day trying to perfect her grandmother's steak and kidney pie recipe, and she'd been so proud of her efforts and looking forward to sharing dinner with Cezary. When her husband's owl came, she'd been disappointed. But she knew how hard he worked, how he took the overtime to earn extra money to provide for his family - for her and their son. She couldn't be angry at that. But poor Cezary didn't need to miss out on the pie either, so she'd carefully plated up some, along with fresh boiled new potatoes from the garden, and crunchy greens, all protected with a heat charm, and with Damon on her hip, and Cezary's dinner carefully in hand, she'd flooed to Capps. Corvus had been surprised to see her - that should have been her first clue. But she explained that she wasn't there to disturb Cezary, just to leave him his dinner so that he wouldn't miss out on a hot home-cooked meal.

And then Corvus had told her what deep-down she was sure she already knew. Cezary wasn't there. He'd finished hours ago.

He'd lied.

Embarrassed, she'd told Corvus that she must have gotten her dates muddled up and tried to ignore his raised eyebrow as she thrust the plate into his hands, telling him to enjoy it instead. Moira never got her dates wrong. She was incredibly well organised, and Corvus was all too aware of that.

Cezary had lied to her.

She'd flooed home in a mixture of daze and rage. It had to be another woman. It had to be. All the late nights. The way that he was increasingly detached from her, like he was hiding something. Ignoring her own dinner, she'd put Damon down to sleep, then ransacked their house, looking through Cezary's things, trying to find some kind of proof to justify her paranoia, or prove her wrong and settle her worries. But she found nothing either way.

She couldn't go to bed. Her heart was pounding and she felt breathless, full of adrenaline. She paced the floor of their front parlour, boots marching up and down, clacking over the floorboards and scuffling over the rugs. She had to confront him. She had to ask him. She had to hear the truth.

Was this her fault? She stopped dead in her tracks, wrapping her arms around herself as if shivering from a phantom breeze. Was he not satisfied with her? Was she not pleasing him as she should be? She started pacing again, thinking back over their intimate moments, double-analysing every little detail. She tried so hard, but of course she was lacking in experience. Cezary was all she knew. She'd learned what he liked, but perhaps there was more than he was too embarrassed to ask her for. Or perhaps she was terrible and he'd never let on, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Perhaps she hadn't been what he'd wanted or expected. She shouldn't have asked to go back to work... although rationally she knew that this had to go back further than that. Even back to before Damon was born. Her eyes tilted up to the ceiling, as if she could see through the wood and into the nursery above. What would this mean for her son? Perhaps she shouldn't say anything. Perhaps she shouldn't rock the boat, just continue in willful ignorance...

No. She couldn't. She would never trust him again. She'd drive herself crazy with paranoia. She had to know. Determined to wait up for him, she continued to pace the room, then, as it got late, she settled in an armchair. Eventually she nodded off.

The sound of crying woke her. Bleary eyed, it took a moment to register her surroundings and realise that the noise was Damon through the enchanted monitor that sat on the coffee table. Getting up with a stifled yawn, she made her way to the nursery, her voice softly reassuring her toddler as she picked him up and gently rocked him. Her eyes darted to the clock on the nursery's wall. 4am. Still no Cezary.

Once Damon was settled, she headed to her bedroom, faced with the obvious - he wasn't coming home tonight - and crawling between the sheets, she curled up and smothered the sounds of her tears.

@Cezary Kowalczyk

He had never stayed out all night before. He often went out on little excursions, looking for something interesting and new. He was always looking for something to fill the hole that Dieter left, but he never found anything that lasted more than a few hours. Even those men he'd come to admire more than once hadn't truly been able to fill the void. At the end of the night, he came back home to his wife, pretended everything was okay, and went to sleep in their shared bed. Until tonight. It was a new low, and he felt guilty. He hoped beyond reason that Moira would have gone to sleep early and not tried to wait up for him. He hoped that she would never notice that, for the first time, he had stayed out all night long.

Things were different, though, this time. He hadn't found a replacement Dieter. This time, it had been the real thing, and Cezary's mind was still spinning. Had this come a week ago, a month, a year, he might not have been ready for it. He might still have been hurt, still angry, still afraid to trust. Tonight, though, he had felt...healed. When he saw Dieter's face he didn't jerk away. He didn't try to run or try to fight. He had asked him, very calmly—all things considered—to dance. He had let their bodies press together. He had danced with him as though nothing had changed, even though everything had.

Dieter was his first and only real love, and he had left him alone to be with another man. It didn't seem that that mattered anymore. Dieter wasn't confused anymore. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted him, without fear or complaint. Cezary wanted that, too. He had let the older man take him home, making the same kind of risk he had made the very first night he let Dieter take him home. Even though he didn't fear for his physical safety, the emotional well-being was still a large risk. Could he handle being with him again? Could he have him once more and potentially never again?

Luckily Cezary wouldn't have to find the answer to that question. There would be a next time, at least. Hopefully there would be another, and a time after that, and a time after that. They hadn't worked through all of the details of their budding new relationship, but Cezary understood Dieter enough to know something had changed. The man was more serious about him now than he had been before. He wanted more than he wanted before. They would have to discuss it at another time, when Cezary had more time.

...but, with Dieter, time was meaningless. It stopped cold, and there was nothing in the world but the two of them drifting in space, making love, making joy. That was what caused Cezary to arrive home so much later than usual. What had felt like a few minutes, an hour—it had been all night. Cezary had to be quiet. He crept past Damon's room, letting out a sigh of relief that his toddler didn't seem to stir. The last thing he wanted was to wake Damon and have him cry, have Moira wake up, have her be annoyed at him as well as scandalized. He could hopefully slip silently between the sheets and curl beside her as though nothing had happened.

Had he not showered before he left, he likely would smell like a heady mix of sweat and sex, but instead he smelled like a brand of bar soap they didn't use. Perhaps Moira wouldn't even notice. He stepped out of his trousers and robes, pulled his shirt over his shoulders and stepped into his sleeping pants. He moved with a ninja's skill to his side of the bed, and carefully pulled back the covers. He was tired, and he had work in an hour...

For an hour or so she'd dozed. It was light sleep, plagued by half-dreams, half-hallucinations. There was the sound of a door, of feet, and for a moment she was back home at Capps and her grandmother was creeping into the room to check she'd stopped reading under the covers...

The covers twitched and Moira was pulled fully back into the present day, and the present situation. Rolling over to see her husband attempting to creep into bed with her, she frowned, reached to the nightstand for her wand and with a flick of her wrist lit the room's candles. Then she forced herself to breathe.

She wanted to yell at him, to scream. She wanted to ask him where he'd been, to insist he told her who the other woman was. But Moira was smarter than that. First, she needed restraint. Because she wanted to catch him in his lie. Her eyes flicked to the bedside clock and then back to her husband. "I know you said you were working late, Cezary, but this is ridiculous," she said sharply, hoping that the dim candlelight hid the redness of her eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

Sitting up, she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her, building a wall between him and her. He smelled different. He looked different. He looked... happier. Her heart sunk as she took in his appearance, trying to find any clue as she waited to hear what he had to say.