A Bird's-eye View

By Finnity

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: This will contain allusions to and scenes of slash (male/male love). So if that bothers you, please turn back now. Also, I feel I must warn you of my lack of general knowledge. I'm not exactly sure when this story is taking place- sometime earlier in the twentieth century, or perhaps completely AU (it's definitely AU though). So, if I make any mistakes or something seems off, don't hesitate to call it to my attention or offer suggestions (I can't guarantee I'll be able to fix it but I'll sure try! :)

A/N: Sorry, I have no excuses. I hope this is adequate. Actually, I hope it's better, but I'll let you readers be the judge.

Chapter 2: Dear Darling

The next night hadn't changed anything. Nor the next. She had assumed he was tired or had a headache, a heart condition- anything else that would prevent a husband from performing on his wedding night, but a week had passed and still no change. He went straight to bed at night and they didn't talk about it in the morning. She had to finally concede that it was not going to happen. She was a smart woman so I knew that this wasn't something to do with a "delicate constitution" or some sort of fear of inadequacy- this was all too clear. Sirius hardly graced her with words. He barely even looked at her. It was almost affecting her ego how utterly indifferent he seemed to her beauty and her undeniable charm. It was not conceit, her mother had once told her, to be aware of one's attributes. She was a handsome woman, petite yet not without womanly contours.

Why, then, did Sirius not want her?

No. It was not that he didn't want her. How could he not? She was a woman, and a pretty one at that. He must be playing hard to get. Or something. At any rate, it was a challenge, and one that she shall have to triumph; even if she ceases to love him in the process.

But that would never happen. She had taken to him quickly, sure, but it couldn't possibly be that simple to fall out of love with someone. She reckons you fall in love forever, even when you've had your heart broken, even after you've met someone else. The love must simply hide in the depths of your heart, the very reclusive confines of your mind, eclipsed by the new love. But it will flicker into consciousness every now and then, when you least expect it, reminding you, remember me? Remember this? That wasn't so very long ago…

Oh, she's being silly, getting all philosophical when she should be contemplating a plan. Oh, but that was part of the plan, wasn't it? Get him to fall in love with her, so that he will forever be chai- connected to her; first by Love, then through Mind. Simple.

Oh yes. Very simple. Simple for her. What had it taken? Her eyes landing on his handsome face. He wasn't even kind to her. And yet she couldn't stop herself from falling. Despite, or perhaps due to, his inaffections she found herself actually falling for him, and not the way she had initially succumb to giddy pleasure when she thought of how utterly perfect a man he was. No. She wanted him, more than any other man she'd ever laid eyes on. She wanted him and she couldn't have him. This was a concept unbeknownst to her. Whenever she wanted something, she knew just how to get it. And it was real work. Easy though it was for her, possessing a well-endowed artillery of luscious curls, curves, and everything arc in between, and being a master of such weaponry, she always came out of the brush victorious. Hitherto, it had never failed.

Then there was Sirius.

She had tried delving into her supply of womanly wiles: blushes, brushes, sultry giggles, ego-stroking, even the unashamedly forward flaunting and pressing of feminine curves against his body. None of them worked. She tried everyday, each time stepping up a notch, from coquettish to downright harlot-worthy.

This afternoon, she was currently alone, reading the newspaper for lack of anything better to do. As it was a weekday, Sirius was at work, leaving her nothing to do. For the past couple of weeks she'd been spending her time alone thinking up ways to win him over, figure him out. She'd had little success.

By the second week, however, though she could admit, without cringing that it didn't seem like Sirius had relented (or will) in the slightest, she remained satisfied in the notion that until her efforts were realized, she would not go entirely without husbandly affections. She had ascertained the secret to getting some touches from him, even if they weren't genuine. All she had to do was play the loving wife in public and she would get to touch his arm, call him "honey," maybe even coax a "dear" out him in return, however grudgingly. She knew, after the disdainful stares he shot at her while doing so, how much he resented her for it, however clever her actions may have been, but she had resolved to go all out, with no regard for collateral casualties- those were sacrifices she was willing to make for the realization of the goal- an no sympathizing with the enemy…otherwise there was no conceivable way she could attain the enemy's love. So he would feel slighted, at first; he'd warm up to her soon enough. As with some of her tougher conquers, a vacillating strategy might help: touchy and cuddly, then tantalizingly cool and aloof- Sirius won her with aloofness, after all.

While he didn't respond well to her plan, he also didn't respond, which is a step forward, considering she didn't receive the usual glares and biting remarks. He was blank, nonchalant, and he was unresponsive! It was only a matter of time now.

She idly turned the page of her newspaper, eyes still focused dazedly on the air above the page.

Yes, married life had been getting more tolerable lately. It did not bother her that the affections she wheedled from Sirius were just that- coaxed, unwanted, forced, and very, very resented- so long as she got them. It was like a Chinese finger trap, their relationship; the more you tried to pull away, the more constricted the trap's bamboo-hold on your fingers becomes. The only way to escape was to relent, go in the opposite direction and against the instinct of using force. Sirius was clever; it hadn't taken him long to figure her trap out. It took even more quickly for him to determine that the best manner of escape was to just surrender to her strange whims until, as he thought, the threads comprised of her false hope and tenacity ceased to constrict on his resolve. This, presumably, would be when she finally tired of her game, or when, as she predicted, she finally won him over. So, the only thing for him to do was, not to pull away, but to go along with it.

And go along, he did, when he'd allowed her to "dear" and "sweetie" him, mollycoddle and fondle him. They even talked a bit more, which was a welcome change to the silence to which she'd been accustomed, even if the things he said weren't always so warm or encouraging. It would not discourage her that this pseudo-geniality was usually in the company of people and generally consisted of the necessary "pass the butter, please," or the obligatory "and how was your day, dear?" when they had guests, as it would seem terribly untoward not to inquire of his wife's day and, at the very least, pretend to care.

The underlying disdain, however, was often hard to ignore and so very evidently there, that she was surprised no one else had noticed it when it was so immensely suffocating, threatening to coat her lungs and choke her thus. She could almost see the tension in the air, hovering like dust motes after having been stirred in the most neglected of rooms (She will never be a neglected room). It may have been half-heartedly and vainly suppressed, but it was always just under the surface if one cared to look, that uninhibited, patronizing look of get away from me whenever she so much as tread in his direction. She had to plead incredible ignorance sometimes rather than admit to herself that too often, it really did seem like Sirius was repulsed by her. If she was not such an assured and tenacious woman she might have been deterred in her attempts to win her husband over. But this was not the case, and she could see the beginnings of give in his formerly rigid resolve.

So she continued, learning from her experiences rather than allowing them to overwhelm and dissuade her. She had already concluded that the best way to make life more pleasant, and their marriage seem more normal, was to constantly keep people around until such a time when Sirius would want to be with her not just to keep up appearances, but of his own desire to be near her. She assumed that's what he was doing, anyway, keeping up appearances. Why else would his manner change when the amount of people with them did? In any case, she knew the solution to one problem, if no where near the discovery of why there was a problem to begin with. It hadn't taken her long to catch on, and she soon tried inviting people to their home, under the pretense that she was merely being gregarious and neighborly, but Sirius, presumably wise to her actions, refused her pleas for company. She'd even resorted to keeping the maid around, but Sirius didn't seem to count her presence as much of one since he continued ignoring her as if she weren't his own wife, and the maid seemed too flustered around Sirius to even notice and took any opportunity to leave the room, which was usually almost immediately after Sirius entered it. She probably had a crush on the man, silly girl.

Speaking of the devil…

"Evangeline," she called as the young lady entered the living room brandishing a dust cloth. She looked up, startled, when she heard her name.

"Yes, miss?"

"Turn the lamp on, will you? I can't see a thing in this darkness."

The girl hastened to the lamp. "It is awful dark for midday, Miss, don't you think?"

She repressed a very unladylike snort. "It's England. The weather here is almost as dismal as the food."

"Yes," said Evangeline, "it is. Worse, even." She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, no doubt wondering why her "Miss" was indulging her with such pleasantries. "Miss, did you-?"

"Hold that thought," she interrupted, holding her finger up haltingly as she surveyed the newspaper article in front of her. "Another trolley accident, would you look at that?"

Before Evageline could lean across the table and even pretend to "look at that," Mrs. Black (How wonderful to be known as such!) had already turned the page and resumed weeding through the paper aimlessly. Evangeline turned to carry on dusting and had almost completed the entire room when she heard a knock at the front door accompanied by the chime of a doorbell.

"Oh, I'll get that," she said, scurrying to the door.

"No, no," said Mrs. Black, pulling up from her chair. "What would be the point of you getting the door if it's for me? Carry on with your work."

With that she left the startled maid behind to answer the front door when the doorbell chimed again. She turned the handle, wondering who would be calling for her, as Sirius had still not returned from work. She swung the door open to reveal a tall, petite figure, of whom she recognized instantly. Actually, it wasn't the figure she recognized but the striking features.

Lily Evans: the town beauty. With dark red hair and startlingly green eyes, it was no wonder. However, one should not be fooled by such a delicate visage; Lily may be as beautiful as her namesake, but her delicacy was far from it. She was brash, outspoken, had a temper like a hurricane, and was generally very unladylike. At any rate, that was the account she'd gotten from the rumor mills, which mostly consisted of women she'd met around the neighborhood, who were, no doubt, less attractive than the infamous Lily Evans. They were probably exaggerating her masculine tendencies as a way of patching their deflating egos, and at the expense of revealing their jealousy in a most unbecoming manner. It must have been so, because this Miss Evans, despite her rumored unruliness, had apparently turned away masses of men as a younger lady. Although, now she was well past the age of twenty, and consequently of proper marrying age, she had been receiving fewer offers, or so Mrs. Black had been told. A good majority of men, once marriage came into play, come to realize that a woman who was as opinionated and ambitious as Lily so evidently was, while entrancing and endearing as a teenager, was not a wise choice for a wife. And rightly so; it just wasn't right for a woman to be so… masculine. And she should not act so in public, as though she were unashamed. Proud, even. No, no. This Lily could not be nearly as unladylike as they say. There couldn't be such women.

"Hello, Mrs. Black," Lily greeted at length. "How are you?"

"I'm lovely," she answered courteously, but not entirely truthfully. Today was an exceptionally boring day, with nothing to look forward to but an old newspaper. "How about you?" she asked, remembering that typical social protocol required her to reciprocate the pleasantry. Well, Lily couldn't be as horrible as they said, then. She seemed to have manners.

"I've been better, in all honesty. Work was particularly tiring today."

Oh. She's forgotten about that. There was apparently another thing about Lily Evans that she'd assumed had been exaggerated and was apparently wrong in doing so; Lily was more involved with her career than with finding herself a husband and provider. She was one of those odd, progressive women the neighborhood ladies spoke of, the type that she had never witnessed where she came from and therefore didn't think existed. The peculiar thing, however, that no one who knows Lily will ever understand, Mrs. Black now included in this mass, is that most of those enlightened women- the feminists and intellectuals- were, for lack of a better word, ugly, unappealing, and gauche (Well, that may have been more than one word, but they were fitting nonetheless). Lily, with such beauty, charm, and confidence, was truly an exception.

"Well," said Lily, after no response from her companion. "May I come in? It's starting to drizzle."

"Oh!" she answered, noticing the sporadic streams of water falling from the sky. "Yes, do come in." She stepped aside, allowing Lily to precede her.

Once in the living room, she offered Lily a seat, taking one herself. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked with genuine curiosity and something else bordering on suspicion.

"Ah," said Lily, surprised, having been surveying the room unabashedly. "Yes, I was wondering if Sirius was in. I know he has work today, but I assumed he'd be back by now. Anyway, there was something James- James Potter; you must know him- wished me to convey to Sirius. He would have done it himself, so he says, but he has a football match, away." She smiled for some inexplicable reason before continuing. "And says he won't be back until tomorrow. So anyway, here I am." Lily paused, smiling genially, and looked at her companion expectantly, as though she'd just asked a question. Lily, she reasoned, may just be as strange as they said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Is Sirius here?"

She blinked at the abruptness of the response. "No," she answered. "He's still out."

"Ah," repeated Lily. "Do you suppose he'll be in soon? I can't stick around too long, but I was told to give him a message. I suppose I could come back later; do you know when he'll be back? If you're expecting him within the hour I suppose leaving now would be-"

"Is this any message I can relay to him, Miss Evans?" She was being rude by interrupting, but she could not stand any more of Lily's rambling. It was strange; it was not a typical nervous babble- Lily was nothing if not confident- it was more of a monologue, a self-talk, as if Mrs. Black were witnessing the (incessant) thought processes of Lily's mind in its external display. Lily was a loud thinker.

After her question, however, there was silence. "Actually," said Lily at last. "I don't know what the message entails exactly, but I presume it to be private and for Sirius's ears and eyes alone. No offense to you, Mrs. Black," she added at seeing her companion's affronted expression. "I just believe very strongly in the sanctity of privacy."

Mrs. Black checked her countenance, reminding herself that it was neither proper nor prudent to let one's emotions show. (What didn't Lily believe strongly about?). "Not at all," she said, flipping a rogue curl over her shoulder. Then, remembering that Lily had asked her a question, she replied, cringing as she did so. "I…I'm not sure when Sirius will be in. He, ah, didn't say. But it shouldn't be much longer, I'd… wager." Though she regretted adding that inadvertent invitation for Lily to stay and wait for Sirius to return, she also wanted to be around to hear what the message was when Lily finally revealed it to him.

"Right," said Lily. "I suppose I should wait then," and though it wasn't a question, she nodded her assent.

"So," said Lily, after a long while of silence. "I hope I hadn't interrupted anything important by intruding so." She smiled apologetically.

"Ah," she answered, berating herself for following in Lily's lead in inarticulacy. "No. I was only reading the paper."

"The newspaper?" Lily inquired. "May I trouble you for it?" And then, because she was Lily, and therefore cannot simply ask a question and wait for an answer, she followed it up with an explanation. "I haven't had a chance to read mine yet. I've been incredibly busy with work, and then I had to go grocery shopping, and what a mess that is."

Lily, she decided, was a talker. If not stopped, she'd probably talk for hours without break. The issue here revolves around the if not stopped. Mrs. Black's course of action, therefore, was to stop her.

"Miss Evans, would you like to borrow my newspaper?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached for the newspaper lain across the coffee tabletop and extended it to Lily, who took it graciously, scouring the paper at once.

"Ah!" Lily cried in amusement, startling her. Then she began laughing. Mrs. Black was taken aback by the sound of such unbridled, boisterous amusement. "My apologies," she said around her giggling, if one could grant her noises that ladylike a term. "It's this 'Dear Darling' column; it's hilarious. Some of these 'dilemmas' are such common sense issues that it really says little for society that these are the most complicated they could find." She laughed again and shook the page open in front of her face dramatically as she began to read aloud. "Here, listen:

"Dear Darling,

I have been married for three months now. My husband (Jonathan) is a dream, and our home is wonderful. He and my family get along. My family and his family get along. There is a problem, however. I love his family to death, but I feel as if Jonathan's mother thinks me…incompetent. She doesn't mean to be overbearing or belittling, I know, and I don't want to cause a confrontation. Jonathan really loves his mother, and I wouldn't want him to think I don't appreciate her advice, because I do. She is a very experienced homemaker and I am nothing but reverent of her. However, when she ceaselessly tells me how I can improve my housekeeping skills, or go a little lighter on the salt, I cannot help feeling depreciated. What's worse is when she offers to iron my husband's shirts (and he accepts, thinking nothing of it). I know she's trying to help, and he is her son, but it embarrasses me that I can't take care of my own husband. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Daughter-in-law with a Dilemma"

"That's a riot! Honestly! I have a suggestion: grow a pair and tell the woman to back off! The man is not a boy anymore. Let's see the advice now…

"Dear Daughter-in-law,

That is quite a dilemma. An epic quandary in which you are not alone. New Wife vs. Mother-in-law. Think of it as an initiation into married life; a coming-of-age, if you will. It happens to everyone and they all get through it. Remember the age-old saying: just grin and bear it. I know it doesn't sound pleasant, but it will pay off in the long run; no confrontation, and the maintenance of your husband's and his mother's happiness. It's good of you to revere your Mother-in-law. Filial Piety; this is the Confucian ideal that it is essential to respect one's elders, especially parents and relatives. You are fulfilling your duty as a person, and as a wife by making you husband happy. If you continue to feel unappreciated, talk to your husband. He may be able to reassure you and get you back on track, and if he agrees with you, you might even get him to decline his mother's offers to clean his shirts! Remember that small acts may provide gargantuan relief.

Sincerely,

Darling

"That's the advice! Grin and bear it! The duty of a wife is not to endure. This isn't the Eighteenth bloody Century- pardon the language- I can't even- I don't- this is ridiculous! Respect your elders; ha! I'll only show respect to those who deserve it."

Mrs. Black looked on in horror at Lily's unrepentant disregard for social mores, and sought to dissipate into her chair when Lily let out another derisive laugh and continued her inexorable rant.

"…and tell her husband? Like she has to defer to him. She's a grown woman; she can handle a little adult confrontation. Besides, that'snot even clever. The advice wasn't even that; it was trite and completely useless information. All she- or by the sound of it, he- did was use a load of clichés and very general, ineffectual recommendations. And look at the superfluous insertion of Confucian ideals; its obvious the bint just wants to sound intelligent. I suppose she has to make up for her incompetence as a journalist somehow. I could have been a better advice columnist. James Bloody Potter could have been a better advice columnist."

"James Potter?" asked Mrs. Black, hoping this would have the equivalent effect of leading a horse off the jagged, potholed path.

"Yes, you know him. Sirius's friend. Best, actually," she added with a curious quirk of the lips. "He was best man, even."

Best man… best man. …why wasn't it coming to her?

"He's the one who gave me this," she waved a small, plain-looking white envelope. "He's also the one who told me Sirius would be back by this time, but it wouldn't be the first time he's assumed things and been incorrect. Heh," she exhaled air, not quite a snort, but far from a laugh, "Men."

Oh, God! Apparently the topic of James Potter wasn't to be the smooth, unfettered path she'd assumed. No, apparently, she'd lead them right from crooked and rutted into a trail laden with bushes, thorned and tangled.

Suddenly something clicked. "The lanky man with untidy hair!" she exclaimed in epiphany.

Silence. Silence that gave Mrs. Black enough time to review what she'd just said and grimace.

Then Lily laughed raucously, a laugh far more loud and boisterous than Mrs. Black has ever heard even from a man, barring perhaps a drunkard falling unceremoniously out of a saloon. "Oh," said Lily, wiping the mirthful tears from the corner of her eye, "Oh, that was brilliant." Before Mrs. Black could wonder if Lily was mocking, and take offence, she continued, laughingly all the while. "Honestly, I've never heard such an apt description of James Potter. Mind if I borrow it?"

"Oh, er…" She was spared a proper answer by the sound of the front door. "Sirius," she exhaled, not really a whisper - it wasn't quite soft enough- but a breathy exclamation.

"Ah," said Lily, rising from her seat and placing the newspaper she'd left neglected on her lap delicately on the vacated seat. "He's here, then."

Mrs. Black nodded absently, scurrying to meet Sirius at the door, Lily in tow.

"Lily," greeted Sirius when he saw them, "hello. How are you?"

Sirius stood atop the entrance rug, rain-slick shoes pressing dark, wet patches into the fabric. He held an umbrella in one hand and a coat slung over the other, but he appeared to have used neither. His hair was plastered to his head, stray strands sticking to his forehead and cheeks, and even his shirt seemed to be splattered with wetness, sticking to his form in odd places. He looked very young, and not just because he had that look of a five-year-old who'd just come in from splashing in puddles. He looked not just young, but simply not as old as he'd appeared since the first time she'd met him. The perpetual frown, the dent between his brows, which she hadn't entirely noticed were there until their disappearance.

Also, he appeared not so surprised by Lily's presence. Lily must have sensed it too because when she was strangely hesitant when she extracted the envelope from her person.

"Hello yourself, Sirius," she said, smiling genially. "I'm fine. I actually came here to relay a message - you don't seem surprised to see me here," she added, almost questioningly.

"That would be because I'm not," said Sirius matter-of-factly. "I came across James; he told me- about the letter, and told me to tell you he's really sorry for making you waste your time for nothing. If you get a hold of him, tell him I'll miss him dearly and that he's been a good friend. Also, for the sake of said best friend, make it a quick and painless death, yeah? For me?"

Laughing, Lily placed one hand on Sirius's shoulder and, with the other, pushed the mysterious envelope to his chest. "Take care, Sirius. You too, dear," she added to Mrs. Black. Then she exited, casting a coy "I'll think about it" over her shoulder.

That night, as both she and Sirius mutually occupied the living room, any hope she'd had of discovering the contents of the envelope were incinerated, up in flames with the letter Sirius had casually tossed into the fireplace after reading. She could not even attempt to gauge the possible secret messages that lie within from reading his reactions, his face, as always, an illegible mask. So while Sirius watched the flames voraciously consume the only tangible clue she'd had to go by, Mrs. Black, turning resolutely away, began to skim her newspaper for what was probably the tenth time that day. Her eyes came across the column Lily had sardonically recited earlier.

The thing was… she didn't see how it was so horrendous. The advice actually appeared, to her, rather appropriate and helpful. In fact, it was quite insightful…

She wondered… How would Darling reply to a… Confused Consort?

A/N: Disregard the unimaginative 'Dear Darling' and "daughter-in-law dilemma." This is the name (and a similar situation) I came up with for a ninth grade English project.