But when our fingers interlock, can't deny, can't deny, you're the worth it
'Cause after all this time
I'm still into you

Midnight November 6th, 1890 — Zachariah Binns Private Quarters

Settling back into her parents' home was a more difficult adjustment than when she had returned for Mars' sake. Then, the focus was entirely on her twin. All conversations always doubled back to speculating about Mars' pregnancy or how she was coping in the aftermath of becoming a widow. Jo wasn't watched then by the household staff as though she were some hospital patient about to inflict some deadly curse upon them. Her mother hadn't been insistent upon confining her to her bedroom where the amount of light filtered in through the windows could be controlled. Despite having returned to fewer obligations than normal (seeing as she was incapable of helping in the shop or anything else marked as useful), Jo had none of her previous freedoms or flexibility. She was a caged bird, suffering through her misfortune endlessly.

And likely would for the foreseeable future.

The accident might have left her in a worse off state had her employer not thought to take her to the hospital straight away. Supposedly, the curse the graverobber cast upon the tomb was designed to thwart anyone from stealing more of the treasure by making their hands slowly turn to dust. Fortunately, Jo had been spared the worst of the curse because of a competent healer, but she had still lost two fingers and gained an uncontrollable tremor. That, combined with the blast that slammed her head into the stone wall had effectively ended her career before it could truly begin. How was she to cast effective spellwork and not accidentally damage the site if she could not control her trembling hand? How could she focus if the blinding sunlight triggered a vomiting episode? Kamal had warned Jo against maneuvering the bricks with her bare hands, had scolded her for it even, but her arrogance would hear nothing of it. And now, her dreams were burnt to ashes alongside her missing fingers.

Jo meant to write to Zach as soon as she arrived in London. He had every right to know she was home safe, after all. However, the hours during which Jo didn't feel like death reincarnated were forcibly spent with her worried family. By the time she escaped them her head ached something fierce and it was all she could do to not to sob from the pain. Despite her wanting his comfort over anyone in her family, there was simply no arguing it.

Or, at least that was until tonight.

The owl's tired peck on her window awoke her long after everyone else had gone to bed. Mercifully, Jo had thought to grab some of the bird feed stashed near her windowsill before opening it, as the poor owl seemed starved. It took only one glance at the letter to know why the poor owl was in such a state, after all, flying from England to Egypt and back again had to be exhausting. It was a letter from Zach penned the day she returned home, and it contained directions on how to visit him without doing so publicly.

She wasted no time.

Dressed in only a robe over her nightgown, Jo silently crept through her home and floo'd to Zach's. The brightness of the green flames made her stomach turn, but she managed to swallow back the bile. Vomiting was not how she hoped to greet him after nearly two months apart. (In another universe this reunion would lead to marathon sex, but unfortunately the very thought of sex in her condition was frightening.) She walked from the fireplace into what had to be a study of sorts, though Jo paid no mind to any details. Tonight's only mission was to be held by Zach, the rest of the world could wait.

After what amounted to a two minute search, Jo finally came across his sleeping form. Stopping only to drop her robe into an useless heap on the floor, she gently pulled the covers back and slipped into bed beside him.

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   Billie Farrow

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The day had passed like all the others since he’d received Jo’s reply. Zach had woken, gone through his morning routines, and kept checking for owls. By some point in the afternoon, he had retired to the back of the shop to focus on some clerical work. It was really to escape his staff and well-meaning customers who noticed he was out of sorts. The waiting to even hear if Jo arrived safely was unbearable.

By the time he turned into bed, Zach had worn himself out with worry. He had barely read three pages of his latest book before he passed out. When Jo found him, his reading glasses were still perched on his nose, a novel leaned against his face, and the light he read by had just sputtered out.

He hadn’t heard her enter, nor did he realize she had joined him in the bed until he felt one of her limbs bump against his leg. Blue-green eyes immediately snapped open, and he let out a startled sort of grunt. Whirling around, Zach managed to slightly tangle himself up in the bed sheets, his hands grasping for the closest item to him. It was with panic that he raised the book with his two hands, wielding it as some sort of makeshift weapon. His wand was on his bedside table, but he wasn’t alert enough to actually use logic and reason.

His reading glasses and the relative darkness blurred her face. There was a person in his bed. At this ungodly hour.

"What the Devil do you think you’re doing?!” He shouted, waving the book about. "Who are you? What’s the meaning of this?”

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Oh, fuck.

Apparently, the welcome into his home wasn't always as he intended. Or, at least, she ought to have called out from the hallway or something. Anything really to avoid the shouting that was now making her head pound.

Instinctively, Jo put her hands (her injuries to her right hand obscured by thick bandages) to defend herself should the book be swung in her direction. "Zach, it's me. Jo." She answered in what she hoped was a calm voice. It was a relief to know that he wasn't expecting anyone at all (Hogsmeade was full of eligible women after all) but such relief did little for her in her present state.

"Fuck, I'm sorry for startling you. Must we shout?" Her hands moved from their defensive position to rub her temples. This was a bad idea. A ridiculously bad idea.

  

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Just as he was about to swat at her as if she were some sort of overgrown fly, Jo’s voice fully registered. He let the book drop onto his lap, and he fumbled to remove his reading glasses.

"....Jo? Is it really you?"

Placing his glasses on the side table, he grabbed for his wand and murmured an incantation to light a lamp on the other side of the room. With the addition of the better lighting, he fully took her in, his expression softening. Immediately, he reached out to lay a hand on her, needing to be sure she wasn’t just some sort of apparition. Once it was apparent she wasn’t a figment of his imagination, Zach quickly began to untangle himself from his blankets.

"Forgive me. I...I don’t often get visitors at this hour."

Once he had more freedom of movement, Zach scooted closer, concern written all over his face. While he was relieved to see her, he couldn’t help but worry something additional had occurred for her to arrive so late. The way she clutched her temples had him wishing he could take his reaction to her arrival back. He couldn’t bear the thought that he’d harmed her, or made her ailment more unbearable.

"Forgive me," he repeated, the volley of emotions welling in his chest, preventing him from saying anything else coherent. After a moment, he settled with, "How...how are you?"

  

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Were she in better spirits and health, Jo would have laughed at his statement and attempted to brush off her judgement error. Instead, Jo simply offered a slight smile that was probably more like a grimace and said, "I should hope not." Randomly appearing in one's bedroom was generally frowned upon, and the few cases where it weren't were usually marked by insane people or criminals. Of which Jo sincerely hoped she was neither. Fuck, had the curse also caused her to become even more impulsive?!

Jo quietly dropped her maimed hand to her lap as he untangled himself from the blanket. The damage would be evident with only a glance towards it and she hoped to stave off any pity. Zach's analytical mind might think to ask questions of her now-lost career she wasn't yet prepared to answer, and pity would only fuel those questions. The relationship between them would change soon enough — Jo was in no rush to push it along.

"I'm alive, at least." The same couldn't be said of two of her colleagues who were down in the tomb with her at the time of the accident. They'd been crushed in the rubble of the collapsed hallway, Jo was told their deaths had happened quickly. A small relief to an otherwise crushing amount of guilt. "There was a blast and I hit my head supposedly. Truthfully, I don't remember much of it." Jo reached for his hand with her non-injured one as she spoke, frowning at how odd it felt. In Greece she had always offered her right hand, but for obvious reasons was no longer comfortable doing so. "I'm sorry, again, to have startled you. I should've knocked…"

  

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Jo’s attempt at humor had his chest tightening. He surmised she must be in a great deal of pain if her wonderful smile didn’t come easily. While floo’ing wasn’t generally unpleasant, he begged to wonder if she was truly well enough to have made the trip. Not that he didn’t wish her to be there. He only ever wanted to have her by his side.

"I am thankful you’re alive."

When she reached for his hand, he squeezed it, noticing that her thumb wasn’t quite on the right side as was usual. She’d given him her other hand. It was then that he recalled she’d mentioned injury not only to her head. He tried to resist the urge to seek out Jo’s other hand, but he seemed altogether unwilling to fully acknowledge the elephant in the room. He wanted her to tell him on her terms.

Zach shook his head at Jo’s apologizing. It wasn’t warranted. "Are you in need of anything?"

All he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, but he feared harming her further since he didn’t know the full scope of her injuries. Zach did, however, move until their shoulders were touching.

  

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She needed her hand back to normal. She needed her head not to ache if someone spoke above a mere whisper. She needed her life not to be over. All of which Zach had no part of and no way to fix. His life would continue on as it ought. He would be able to continue to cast spells without a tremor, and even eat fucking soup without potentially spilling it all over himself. The healers all said the tremor should lessen over time as the nerves regrew, but Jo knew that was the pretty lie they told to give her false hope.

It was over. She was done.

Jo rested her head upon his shoulder as she fought the tidal wave of emotions overwhelming her. Her only goal since awaking up at the hospital was to go home to her family and Zach. It'd been her drive to recover faster, her motivation in ignoring the healer's recommendations to rest another few weeks. Except, now that she was here Jo had no thought as to what came next. Was she doomed to help Mars in the shop for the rest of her life? Endlessly bored and dreaming of adventure?

What was she to do?

The spiraling thoughts caused her head to pound and tears to spring into her eyes. "I —" Speaking only made the headache worsen. Jo sagged against him, her hand gripping his like a vice, as she began to cry. Whether it was from the pain, fear or grief she could not know.

  

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As her tears began to fall, Zach reached his arm behind Jo’s back and securely wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. He was conscious not to grip her too tightly, but he drew her in closer, allowing her to collapse against him. He wouldn’t let her fall.

Zach didn’t have the words to comfort her. He didn’t know the inner battle she was in the midst of. All he knew is he would make sure she felt safe, make sure she wasn’t alone in her grief. Tenderly, he planted a light kiss on her forehead, mindful not to rattle her.

He wanted to reassure Jo that he was there for her. He wanted to reassure her that she could take her time. If she didn’t wish to speak, he wouldn’t force her. Instead the only phrase that came out was a soft, soothing, "My love."

  

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Mercifully, Jo was too caught up in her head to register the term of endearment Zach used. Love was a term she was not quite ready to use, and likely wouldn't say anytime in the nearby future. Not because she didn't feel the same, but simply because she had too much going on to try and put voice to her feelings.

Eventually, the crying had to subside. The grief still lingered, the fear was still evident in how tightly she held onto his hand, but the pain became too much. Again, Jo swallowed back bile. "Could we rest? I promise to tell you everything in the morning…" She asked quietly. And she would. Whatever Zach wished to know she would share. He deserved at least that much.

  

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"Of course."

Zach ended their embrace and used his now free hand to readjust so Jo would have an adequate amount of pillow and blanket covering. He allowed her to keep her vice grip on his hand, not about to pull away if that’s what she truly needed.

After some adjustment, he sought to try and encourage her to lay down, help ease her down without hurting her. He even took it upon himself to tug the covers up so she would be comfortable.

With a light kiss to her temple, he simply stated, "Rest."

Zach remained awake, long after Jo fell asleep, intent to watch over her. In the morning, he would need to notify his staff that he was feeling under the weather.

****************************************************

Zach awoke as soon as the sun began peeking in through the window, and he made sure to very quietly slide his way out of bed so he didn’t rouse Jo. First order of business was to pen a note to his staff, apologizing for his absence, and providing a list of tasks he hoped to be completed. In the unlikely event of an emergency, they knew to send up the shop’s elderly owl to alert him. It was a bit faster than exiting the shop and using the back staircase to knock on his door. His wards prevented unwanted visitors from apparating into his private quarters and the shop. He had also taken care to temporarily close his floo off from unexpected visitors.

Since Zach was a bachelor who lived alone, he didn’t have the most well stocked kitchen, but he did manage to scrounge up some eggs and bread that he could easily toast. His mother was constantly on his case about how he should hire a cook at least for the evening meal, so that he didn’t waste away to nothing. Zach didn’t see the need.

Humming, he set about cooking, the smells of egg and nicely toasted bread wafting down the hallway.

  

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The headache she had fallen asleep with had mostly faded by morning, though the light sneaking in from behind the curtains threatened to bring it back in full force. Grumbling, Jo reached under the pillow for her wand, only to sit up with a start. This...wasn't her room, and was that … eggs? Since when did Mother make eggs for breakfast?

Slowly — much too slowly considering it was her who left her house in the middle of the night — Jo began to remember just how she ended up in Zach's bedroom. Fuck, her parents were going to freak when they discovered her missing. And, given how bright the world appeared to be outside, that wasn't too long out. Fuck. What was she thinking coming here like that? Had she even worn shoes?!

Once donning the discarded robe and checking for her (now useless) wand, Jo made her way down the hall towards what must've been the kitchen. "Morning." She greeted softly. Zach was making her breakfast and had called her my love … it was all so domestic. One mountain at a time. That was one she wasn't yet prepared to climb. "I'm sorry again for barging in on you last night."

  

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Zach wasn’t the best cook, so some of the toast was a bit too toasty on the edges, and the eggs were definitely very runny, but at least he had tried. When he had first started living on his own, he had been a complete disaster in the kitchen. It was a wonder that he hadn’t started a fire, honestly. Now, he could cook simple meals. Anything else had him taking a trip to The Three Broomsticks.

He had just finished dishing breakfast onto two plates when he heard Jo’s voice. Turning around, he smiled, trying to appear as if all of this was commonplace. Which, of course, it certainly was not. The only females who had stayed at his home were family members. Even that was a rare occasion.

"Morning," he echoed, motioning toward the only chair at his small table that wasn’t laden with books. It seemed he often brought his work home with him, even though his modest accommodations sat directly on top of the shop.

"No apologies needed, Jo."

And he meant it. He placed the two dishes down at the table and worked on clearing off one of the other chairs. With a flick of his wand, the books floated off to his study. "Did you sleep well?" Zach questioned, giving Jo a quick glance over, not that he would be able to glean much. He wasn’t a healer.

"I do hope you like eggs. I, uh, need to do some shopping," he admitted. By the tone of his voice, it was likely something he constantly told himself and never actually did.

  

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"Yeah, I think so." She didn't have any memories of waking, anyway, so it couldn't have been too terrible. "Did you?" Jo asked, knowing full well her sudden appearance likely had startled him into being awake long after she fell asleep.

She smiled at the stacks of books, certain that she had never seen anything that screamed him or his personality more so than that. "Eggs are great...you didn't have to cook for me...thank you." Jo rarely ate breakfast, not that she was going to confess such things to him after he'd gone through such efforts.

Once they were both sitting, Jo eyed the fork self consciously. Attempting to eat with her left hand hadn't gone well thus far, but eating with her right meant the missing fingers and scars were on full display. "I … my hand is disfigured now. The scars haven't quite healed yet, it's … it's not a pretty sight."

  

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Zachariah lifted his shoulders at her question, "Well enough." If he had to trade sleep for ensuring she was comfortable, it was an easy decision.

"I don’t mind," he commented, in relation to cooking. "It’s not difficult to cook for one more." He smiled at that, but he left out the fact that most days he dashed downstairs either without eating or wolfing down something that he didn’t need to cook. Hence why his only cookable breakfast items were eggs.

Jo’s description of her hand had him growing quiet. Disfigured. That could mean quite a few things. It certainly explained why Jo wished to use her non-dominant hand to hold his in the night. A ghost of a frown smoothed the wrinkles around his eyes, but he tried to conceal it. He didn’t like to see her in pain, or to feel ashamed of her new situation.

It took a few moments of contemplation before Zach decided how to respond. "If you do not wish me to look, I shan’t," he started, carefully, gently. "But I am not squeamish, nor will it color my high regard for you." His expression was encouraging, but understanding if she wasn’t yet ready. If anything, Zach was an incredibly patient man, sometimes frustratingly so.

  

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Despite knowing the healers did their best to save as much of her hand as they could, Jo still couldn't shake the resentment she felt towards them. Her middle and ring finger were gone on her right hand, as well as the tip of her pinky. The skin up to her wrist resembled that of a hundred year old man, wrinkled with bulbous veins, with the unfortunate added bonus of hideous scarring. The healers made a point of being pleased having saved her pointer finger, but Jo heavily disagreed. It wasn't as though she could perform delicate wand work with just her pointer finger and thumb, or if there was a way she hadn't yet discovered it.

She glanced towards the table and sighed. At some point or another Zach was going to have to see it, be it on her terms or by accident. And if she was to wear gloves to hide her disfigurement forever, she didn't want to have to wear them around him. "No. You'll see it eventually, what difference does the when of it make?" Reluctantly, Jo moved her hand to the table and frowned at it. Although it wasn't yet shaking she knew the instant she attempted to eat it would begin.

"The curse was meant to turn flesh to dust. A way of thwarting future grave robbers. One other colleague of mine survived the incident, but his hand and wrist were amputated. He was lucky, though, for it wasn't his dominant hand that was afflicted," she explained. "He'll still be able to work eventually." It was impossible not to keep the resentment out of her tone at that last bit. His life, while changed, would be more or less the same. Meanwhile she now had to forge and entire new path. It just wasn't fair.

  

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Try as he might, Zach found himself involuntarily wincing, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t wish Jo to feel self-conscious around him. It was a gruesome sight. Missing fingers were one thing, but the way her skin was wrinkled and scarred told tales of unimaginable pain. Pain he wished he could take from her. Perhaps, it had been lucky she had been knocked unconscious whilst the healers worked.

"Turn flesh to dust? Why, that’s barbaric," he half whispered. His blue eyes continued to scan Jo’s injury, trying to keep his face blank from any expression, but he was obviously concerned.

"Does it bring you much pain?" Of course, he meant physical pain, for he knew, from the pointed way she mentioned her colleague would be able to return to work, that her heart had been wounded. Being unable to return to her life’s passion was likely to be the true pain. Perhaps, she could work to try and gain use of her dominant hand once more, to at least be able to wield a wand? It was a thought he didn’t wish to burden her with, and it remained unsaid, floating between them.

  

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