14 October, 1893 — Pop-Up Bazaar, Padmore Park

He and Jo were supposed to be friends now, but the truth was things were still awkward at best when they did manage to connect. The way they'd parted ways on September 14th was even worse than usual, but given the stress they had both been under that was perhaps expected. She'd wanted to get back to Ilona as soon as she'd gotten off the Voyager, and he'd been exhausted to the bone and very aware that Zelda was waiting at home for any word. A few days later he'd reached out and asked if they could see each other again soon, though, because having been through something like the dragons together and then just — leaving felt very... unfinished, perhaps, was the best word. Not that sitting on a bench in the park and going through the awkward small talk they usually did was going to help with that, but — well, he had to try something.

So they'd sat on the bench, with the pop-up bazaar that they'd ostensibly been going to visit bustling behind them, and they'd made awkward small talk. Alfred commented that although he had probably only been called into action during the Santa Antonina because Ross knew him through Zelda, he now seemed to have an established reputation as the person to call when bad things happened on the water. Between the dragons and the Adebayo company, it did seem like managing disasters was becoming more of his job than he might have anticipated.

"Not that it's necessarily a bad thing," Alfred was saying — for the second time in five minutes, although he didn't realize it. "It's good to feel useful, at least."

---

Jo's confidence had been shaken during the events of September 14th. She was no stranger to danger and had suffered more in her twenty-five years of life than most would in their entire lifetime. And yet, it was the dragon attacks that plagued her nightmares. Night after night she awoke from the same dream with a silent scream on her lips and ice cold terror gripping her heart. Alfred and she had nearly died — countless people did die.

Jo was struggling.

She couldn't discuss the events with Zach. Not when their relationship had turned rocky in recent months, not when she was doing all she could to keep things normal for Ilona. She had no family to reach out to (although she had scanned every newspaper in the weeks following to ensure none of her family members had perished). Hell, only a handful of her friends even knew she was in Britain. Jo had no one and nothing but her nightmares.

Perhaps this was why she decided to risk the exposure of being seen in Hogsmeade to see Alfred. For while their relationship was far more guarded than it once was, at least he was someone she could see and speak to without having to fear larger repercussions. His company and endless, mindless small talk was far better than being left alone with her thoughts for a second longer.

Except, even Alfred was off too, because they'd just gone over this a few minutes ago. Was he struggling with deeper anxieties now too? She hadn't thought so before, but he wasn't the sort to repeat himself so exactly. "Certainly," Jo nodded just as she had the first time he'd said it. "Not feeling useful is difficult. I'm glad Minister Ross thought to send you. Hopefully the new minister will regard you as highly." Minister Ross was Zelda's brother-in-law if memory served, so of course he held Alfred in high esteem.

Then, unlike before, she asked, "do you think they'll look to establish some sort of magical navy? It would be useful to have rather than relying on the ability to find you wherever to help with a disaster."

---

Alfred say up a bit straighter at the mention of a Navy, but as he opened his mouth to speak his shoulders sagged slightly again. "There was one. When I graduated Hogwarts. Not a regular standing Navy, but the Captain — my old Captain, I mean — he had some sort of retainer with the Ministry. I guess that's... sort of the direction things are headed now, though I hadn't thought about it before. The, uhm — the Navy was disbanded when we all went missing. On the Sycorax," he explained. "It actually... I had no idea what to do with myself, when I got back. Because I'd always just been with them; I'd always worked for someone else. And then —" And then they had all been dead. It wasn't something Alfred thought about often, anymore, but her remarks about a Navy had brought it to mind — both how excited and eager he'd been to join up when he was seventeen, and how adrift he'd felt when he finally returned to England and found the only organization in which he'd ever belonged had been dissolved.

---

It was almost a relief that he accepted her turn of conversation so readily. The spell of endless small talk had seemingly (and most likely: momentarily) broken in favor of discussing one of his heaviest traumas. Guilt instantly settled upon her shoulders, its presence heavy and oppressive as she silently observed him. Before the snowstorm, Jo would've pushed him to delve into the subject further for there were no lines between them. However, after Cape Town they'd eatablished such strict boundaries that the lines were practically canyons. Jo should've known better than to mention a navy.

Still, it remained the singlemost honest thing either of them had shared in years. And Jo, despite her guilt and knowledge that she was now entering treacherous waters, was desperate for a semblance of how things used to be. If only to help her regain her footing. "I could think of no one better to restart such an important piece of our ministry. It could also be a way to honor those you lost, a way to share their legacy." Jo replied truthfully. Then, in an attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy air between them, she added, "besides, it's a more purposeful career path than teaching debutantes to sail."

---

Alfred appreciated what she was saying, for all he knew he would ignore her advice. He wouldn't share this with Jo, but he knew after his conversation with Zelda that night that he couldn't have convinced her to make something inherently dangerous the main tack of his career once again. But telling that to Jo would be — too close to that conversation they'd had years ago, when she'd asked how much he was really willing to give up for Zelda's sake, and he wasn't going to reopen that. Even if she had just made an almost direct reference to that particular fight.

He smiled ruefully at her. "Never going to let that one go, are you?" he asked, and could almost convince himself that this was fine; that they could joke about that conversation or reference it without actually reopening it. Because even if Zelda hadn't expressly forbid discussing the breakdown of their friendship, even if it hadn't been one of the boundaries she'd laid down, he felt somewhere deep inside him that it went against the spirit of the agreement they had.

---

"Never." Jo chuckled. She might've understood his need for something stable far more than she ever intended to, just as she might've even understood why he'd been willing to walk in the opposite direction of his passion, but she'd never fully understand why he'd had to factor debutantes into his choices. If their near death experience had taught her anything it was that Alfred was far too talented to waste his life doing something so incredibly ... menial.

"I mean it though, you should at least be reimbursed for the repairs you'll need to make now. They can't just call you into battle and not offer you some sort of compensation."

---

"Oh, they'll pay me for it," Alfred agreed. "I've already got — oh. Oh," he realized, suddenly mortified. "Merlin, I didn't pay you. Stars, I'm sorry. I got a sum for the crew, and I just — you weren't on the roster, and I just — shit," he fumbled. "I'm so sorry, you were such a help that night, I just — with the repair orders and everything I guess I — not that it's any excuse. I — shit, Jo, I'm sorry." She had risked her life just as much as any of them had; even if she didn't desperately need the money, she deserved the same compensation they'd all received.

---

She blinked at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. Her compensation wasn't ever a thought in her head, nor did she truly believe herself entitled to any. But, more importantly, it wasn't at all what she was talking about. "It's alright, truly. I didn't even consider that myself." Jo could use the money, especially if she had any hope of finding some indepence from Zach, but she didn't want to take any from Alfred. Especially not money that came at the expense of so many lives.

"I'm just relieved to know you'll be able to make the repairs with minimal issue. I didn't expect that of the ministry."

---

Alfred relaxed slightly, relieved that she wasn't angry. "Ross is a good man," he said. "The rest of the Ministry might be a wash, but he's a good man."

A beat of silence stretched out. Alfred wasn't sure what to say next. After a second he awkwardly joked, "Anyway, they'd better fund the repairs if they want me to bail them out next time something terrible happens. They don't know anyone else who owns a boat."

---

"More of a reason to reinstate a navy." Jo pointed out, eager to move on from any mention of the blood money. She'd have to reiterate later that she didn't want any of it — perhaps as they parted so there could be no continuing conversation about it. "You might not be local the next time something bad happens. And then what?"

---

"I'm not the only capable man in Britain," he said, but it was levity to cover discomfort. He hadn't told Jo that he and Zelda were expecting a second child, but since Zelda had told him he'd been having more and more reservations about leaving them behind for exactly that reason — that there were whole months of the year where if something happened, he wouldn't be there. At the same time, he knew he wasn't ready to give up sailing full time. Jo had been teasing who the debutantes, but there was a grain of truth to her criticism. He couldn't be happy only doing that.

He feel silent again for a moment. "That night was — a lot."

---

Alfred was right: he wasn't the only capable man. However, he was the one being routinely called upon to assist. Alfred was the one who had sailed his ship into the heart of battle, not whatever other capable men existed in Britain. This time, Jo didn't push him further. They'd been through enough now that she was able to recognize a dismissal when he spoke it.

Instead, she nodded once, her gaze dropping from his to her torn apart cuticles. "I haven't been able to sleep since." She quietly admitted.

---

Alfred sat with that for a moment. He knew what she meant. The flash of fire still surprised him sometimes when he tried to close his eyes. They'd been closer to the source of it all than most.

"We did good work," he reassured her. "But yeah. There's — a cost to it." A cost he had known he was signing up to pay, when he'd answered the call. He wondered if Jo had known. She hadn't answered the call the way he had. She'd climbed aboard originally thinking they were fleeing, not moving closer.

"I, uh. My da. He — he died when I was — I forget, sometime in my twenties. Before I left. He was, uhm. It was a dragon that killed him," he said. "I — I guess I'd never — I'd thought about it before, obviously, but I never really — really knew, what that was like for him."

---

Alfred so rarely spoke about his parents (had he ever?) that Jo had simply assumed they lived quiet, not worth commenting upon lives. That his father had perished in a dragon attack of all things was nearly as shocking as the night they'd just recently gone through. "I don't think that's something you could ever know until you know." Jo replied. "I'm sorry that happened to him, though."

---

Alfred shrugged. He wasn't sure why he'd told Jo; he supposed it was just at the top of his mind, given recent events. He'd already told Zelda about it, and he didn't really expect Jo to have anything more comforting to say. Besides, it wasn't as if Alfred was still grieving his father. His father's death had been the first in his life, but it had been far from the most recent.

"It — it's something to think about, anyway," he said. "Almost like I know something new about him, even after all this time." He paused, and after a moment seemed to lose his train of thought. "Not that it's necessarily a bad thing," he said, shaking himself out of it. "It's good to feel useful, at least."

---

Jo wondered then if he knew about her mother and the circumstances of her death. It was a conversation she'd never brought up with him, but one she now wished she had had for she could then explain how she related to his feelings. Not exactly, of course, but that wondering. That discovery of something new.

And then, Alfred repeated himself for the third time, immediately stopping every thought Jo had about discussing dead parents.

It was so abrupt and such a drastic change in conversation that she couldn't justify it to small talk this time. Alfred was repeating himself like the past few minutes hadn't happened. (Was this what it was like to hallucinate? Had she finally succumbed to sleep and decided to dream of this instead of the attack on the river?) Jo's eyes widened slightly in alarm, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Was anyone else experiencing this? Everyone around them looked normal, but so did Alfred and he was obviously not.

"Of course. Being useful helps provide a sense of purpose." Jo answered almost automatically if only to give herself a few more seconds to think. "It was fortunate that you had already put your ship in the water."

---