Regulus Black swore. He was at the end of his bloody rope, and he couldn't bloody take it anymore. That he had actually fallen ill hadn't helped in the slightest. He was not looking forward to the next Death Eater meeting. He had missed two when he had been ill, and thankfully Snape had covered for him—Merlin knew why—but there would be hell to pay.
Hell, this had not been a good month. He had mostly gotten over what had happened with Bellatrix, but falling ill had complicated things. Diana had been decent enough conversation when she was around, but he had been left with his own thoughts for far too long. It had taken far too long for his tastes, but he had eventually managed to remember that he wasn't an invalid and found a book to read. Vesta had seemed so angry with him those first couple of nights. Well, she said she hadn't been, and he really did believe her, but he just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had been.
In any case, he had tried to go into work this morning, but Lafayette had immediately marched him back out of the embassy and told him to get some sleep. Regulus hadn't been particularly aware that he still looked like he had been run over by a train, but he did, at least according to everyone Lafayette had convinced not to encourage him. He didn't want to return home, though. He had been in that house too much for the past two weeks, and that was enough.
It was near lunchtime now. Regulus considered going to St. Mungo's and finding Vesta, but he knew that was not a wise decision. Most of the witches and wizards he had trained with and under probably still worked there. Sometimes he still wondered how he had managed to get into that program. Ha! What was he thinking? It was because of his last name. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't very good at magic. At least, he wasn't good at it anymore. Once upon a time, he had even excelled, but after what had happened after he quit the Death Eaters, he had barely been able to pull off an average spell. Well, an average healing spell. He could still fight, could still brew potions, but none of that was useful. He hated it.
He did love history, though. He didn't regret that. After he had recovered enough and reapplied to university, he had tried to start over in the sciences, but he hadn't even been able to make it through a single lab in the anatomy class. He still cursed himself for that, but if he hadn't switched classes, then he never would have properly started over. Yes, he would never stop wondering what would have happened if he had become a medwizard, but he was happy. Or, at least he had been happy.
Everything had gone so wrong in the past couple months. Sirius was still an idiot, but what had Regulus honestly expected? In what world would Sirius actually take notice of what was right in front of him? And, because apparently the universe thought it had been too kind recently, Macha had stopped writing for no apparent reason.
"Reg? Hullo? You in there?"
Regulus sighed and swatted Barty's hand away. "Yes. I'm fine," he replied, resisting the urge to collapse into a puddle. Usually, one didn't do that in public.
"You don't look fine," Barty commented, trying not to look ridiculous as he drank his beer through a straw. Regulus started to wonder if any of them were really adults or just over-grown teenagers, because at the moment he was strongly reminded of sixth year.
"Well, I am," Regulus asserted before he conceded, "Well, not really, but could you please stop drawing attention to yourself? We are trying to be non-attention-drawing, remember? I know this should be fine, but there could be Aurors anywhere."
Barty smirked and mentioned, "You know, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Mad-Eye Moody. Trust me, I'd know." After taking another sip of his beer (still through the straw), he explained, "I mean, I've nothing against the guy. In fact, I always kind of admired him in a wow-you-annoy-my-dad-even-more-than-I-do kind of way, but when you're not an Auror and still start emulating him, there's something wrong."
"Barty, how do you manage to be so bloody insipid all the time?" Regulus idly asked.
"Firstly, Black, wrong adjective," Barty began, having decided that going to a crowded Muggle pub meant he could drop all pretense of being stealthy. Regulus almost voiced his reservations, but it was far too much effort. "Secondly, the only company I've had for the past two weeks is Dorcas bloody Meadowes. How else do you think I'm going to respond?"
With another sigh, Regulus murmured, "I thought you liked Dorcas."
Barty looked a little flustered, which gave Regulus enough time to dispose of that bloody straw. "Yeah, in third-year. Christ, Reg, get with the times," Barty corrected a tad defensively, stealing the straw back. "She's a nice enough bird, that's for sure, but she's a little whacked."
"Barty, you spent about a decade under the Imperius curse in your father's house. You're a little whacked," Regulus pointed out, going back to rearranging his food. He didn't really feel all that hungry, but he knew he needed to eat. Maybe he should have gone with the soup instead.
Frowning, Barty asked, "Really, Reg, are you all right? Merlin, I can't believe I just noticed, but you really do look pretty bad. I thought you said you'd gotten over your cold or whatever." Barty looked concerned, but Regulus had a feeling that he had been holding off on mentioning anything for whatever reason. Regulus didn't really mind, to be honest.
"I have, Barty. I've just not been getting a lot of sleep lately," Regulus reassured him, suppressing a cough. Of course, the lack of sleep was worrying, but he wasn't going to let Barty know that. He was just thankful that Barty was running off old information.
"In a I-have-the-weirdest-dreams-in-the-universe kind of way or the Dorcas-really-needs-to-keep-her-mouth-shut kind of way?" Barty asked, sipping his beer through that damned straw again. If Barty didn't stop that, Regulus wasn't to be held responsible for his actions.
"The latter," Regulus replied, still thinking about why it was a bad idea to tackle his best friend across the table. Right, this was a public place, and Aurors were everywhere. Also, Sirius had the best and worst timing in the universe, and regardless of the outcome, Aurors would appear, because Sirius was like catnip to them for reasons beyond Regulus's comprehension.
"Ah. Sorry, mate. Bellatrix's a bitch," Barty commented, finally removing the straw of his own accord. Apparently he had noticed that Regulus was about to snap. As Regulus realized what had just transpired in the conversation, Barty continued, "Look, I'm not going to pry. Hell, we both know I don't need to, but I just want you to know that I'm on your side about this."
"I know, Barty," Regulus murmured, starting to feel sorry for himself again. Oh, this was what he was trying to avoid! Hopefully Barty wouldn't continue on the topic at all. Regulus trusted him, so there was no reason to start talking about trust again.
After what seemed like a tense moment of silence, Barty stopped looking out the window pensively and began, "So. Sharks. Have you ever wondered if they'd find something they didn't think was palatable? I mean, aside from monkey meat, but they eat suits of armor, so—"
"What kind of sharks are we talking about?" Regulus asked, glad Barty had or at least appeared to have no attention span and a massive memory for utterly unrelated topics.
Barty appeared puzzled for a moment before mentioning, "You know, I'm not quite sure myself. I suppose we're talking either about the really bloodthirsty ones or the ones with the really big mouths." After a short pause, he continued, "And I think I just described all the competent Death Eaters."
"Sev's competent," Regulus protested listlessly, deciding he really should try to eat.
Barty sighed overdramatically and agreed, "Of course. How could I forget?"
They sat in silence for a moment while Regulus let himself cough then hesitantly picked at his lunch. Barty seemed to look worried again. "Look, Reg, I don't mean to nag, but do you really feel okay? You're as white as a sheet, and I know you well enough to know you're only going to feel worse if you keep eating," Barty said. "Remember that time in sixth-year?"
"I had a stomach virus," Regulus reminded him. The other Slytherins wouldn't talk to him for a month after that, even if he had been a sixth-year. "And, yes, I do feel kind of shitty, but as I said, I needed some fresh air."
"The air in here is three-tenths smoke," Barty wisely pointed out. He shrugged and continued, "But it doesn't seem to be affecting you that much, so I'll leave it alone." There was a gap of tense silence before Barty asked, "When's the next meeting?"
"Sirius asked you to ask me, didn't he?" Regulus accused, lunch forgotten. His face flush with anger, he growled, "Look, it doesn't matter, all right? What happens happens, and there isn't anything you can do about it!" He sighed shakily, which almost brought on a coughing fit, and tried to calm down. He shouldn't be going off like this on Barty. Christ, Regulus hated losing his temper with his best friend.
Barty looked a little stunned. The last time Regulus had snapped like this was just barely before they had stopped talking. Grimacing, Barty said seriously, "Look, Reg, I'm sorry I asked, and, no, your brother didn't ask me to do an interrogation. We both know he'd do that on his own. I was just wondering." At Regulus's dark look, Barty defended, "Not like that. I've had it with them. I'm not looking to rejoin. No, I was just worried. You know, so the rest of us could have some warning this time."
Regulus held back a glare. He understood the sentiment, but that did not mean he liked it. It didn't matter, in any case. It wasn't like they would stop him from going. Slowly reining in his anger, he said, "Right now, that's no one's business but my own. If I fuck up again, well, then I'll pay the price. How long it takes for me to show up again is another matter entirely."
Clearly attempting not to look frustrated, Barty said, "Reg, be reasonable. Even if any given one of us is worried sick, we'd rather know when we should have the number to St. Mungo's at the ready." He shook his head and continued, "Look, I know you find this sort of treatment patronizing, but I know I'm not alone in my worrying. Merlin, remember what it was like during the war? Your brother was bordering on neurotic, and that was without him knowing what was going on by half! When he figures all this out, there will be hell to pay. Really, Reg, this is my self-preservation instinct acting up. I mean, I am worried, but that's not the point."
Regulus glowered, resorting to rearranging the food on his plate to take his mind off the conversation. He had been trying to avoid this. How had he fucked that up? Oh, right. Barty's ten-second attention span. Maybe if he waited longer, Barty would start rambling again.
"Regulus, I'm not kidding," Barty said, further annoying his friend. He looked out the window again before he apologized, "Look, I'm sorry I brought it up. I know you're really upset about Sirius, but you shouldn't take it out on yourself like this. Is it really so bad that he cares? I didn't get far in psychology, we both know that, but have you ever considered that maybe he's treating you like, well, you because he misses you?" Barty cut Regulus off before the younger man could interrupt, "Hey, don't even suggest that you're replacing Potter. The Spawn of Potter is replacing Potter. That's been clear to me for more than a year and a half, during most of which I never even spoke to Sirius—thank the Lord."
"He's still trying to replace me, then," Regulus murmured, starting to feel maudlin again. God, how he wished he could strip away his emotions. Fuck, why did this still hurt? He and Sirius hadn't been proper brothers for going on twenty years, so why did he feel this way?
Barty sighed and suggested, "Reg, you know that there is an alternative to this."
Regulus shook his head and coughed. (Why wasn't he getting better? It had been almost three weeks by now.) He said unsteadily, "Sirius would have said something. He wouldn't just let me think that—that…" He was not going to break down in public. He was not going to break down in public. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and exhaled. Struggling not to grimace, Regulus resumed, "No, Barty. He'd have told me, because he's the better one of us. The stronger one. Hell, if I'd done the right thing in the first place, we wouldn't even be having this conversation." He needed to go home. If he knew he'd feel like this, he wouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning. With far too much effort, Regulus tried to still his traitorous hands.
Barty seemed a little angry at that, but he had always been better at holding his temper. Ignoring the last, Barty demanded, "Do you really think he's the same person, Reg? Really? After more than half a year, you still haven't realized?"
"Of course I know he's different!" Regulus cried, cursing himself for the outburst. "How could I not? It's my fault… All my fault." He hoped no one was paying attention. God, he didn't want to make a scene. As he tried to calm himself down again, he wiped his eyes.
Barty frowned before he put his hand on Regulus's shoulder. "I'm sorry," Barty murmured as his friend continued to try to collect himself. Self-effacingly, he continued, "Christ, you help me out of my makeshift prison cell, and how do I repay you?"
"It doesn't matter," Regulus said weakly.
"No, it does," Barty corrected. "You're still sick and emotionally distressed. Really, I should have known better." Regulus considered protesting, but he knew that Barty was right and that he should let Barty apologize. With a smile, he said, "You really need to take a break. The world's not going to end if you take a day off, Reg."
Regulus almost corrected him, but there was no point. "I know," he admitted. God, he was so tired of this. How on earth had he managed the first time around?
"Yeah, I believe that," Barty said flatly. Regulus didn't even attempt to glare at him. Fishing for a topic that wouldn't set Regulus off, Barty inquired, "So, how's your wife?"
"She's fine. Worried, but fine," Regulus replied. Managing to pull off a smile, he continued, "She would be doing better if I wasn't so hopeless. She's not happy with how long it's taking me to recover. What about you? You all right?"
Barty nodded and said, "Yeah, I guess. Remember, Dorcas is the only person I've had really any contact with for the past two weeks while you've been lying about, doing nothing." He shrugged and admitted, "I suppose I could be doing worse. I could be stuck with Snape or—worse—your brother. No offense, by the way. You know how well we get along."
Regulus actually smiled at that, surprising himself, and said, "Like cats and dogs."
Barty raised his eyebrows and disagreed, "No, that's you two. I'm more like a hapless rabbit or fox or whatever you lot use hunting dogs to catch." Regulus decided to look unamused, at which point Barty revised, "Fine, us lot. Still. The point remains." Playing with fire, Barty asked, "Speaking of which, when's the next meeting?"
"Barty, you already asked that; I already yelled at you," Regulus reminded him.
Barty stared at his best friend like said friend needed a brain transplant. Regulus wasn't much against the idea at the moment. Maybe he would luck-out and get one that wasn't as apt to wax melancholy. Barty elucidated, "Reg, I meant the Order. Hence the name-dropping of your brother and Snape. And you, to a lesser extent, but you don't really count. Still, God, Merlin, the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore know your brother is the last bloody person to be a Death Eater."
"Right," Regulus said after a moment, feeling thoroughly ridiculous. He tried to remember when the next meeting was. "I think it's on next Friday," he replied hesitantly. "I wasn't paying much attention the last time I saw Sirius. He keeps track of all this stuff. Actually, I think Dorcas has finally decided to unveil herself. I have no idea why she took so long to decide, but who argues with Dorcas? Aside from you."
"I don't argue with her that often," Barty protested. He was lying. If they were in a room for more than five minutes alone, there was usually havoc of some sort. At least, that was how it had been. Nervously, he asked, "Do you think I should stay at the flat? Or should we cause the argument to end all arguments? I'll even apologize to—"
Regulus blinked. "What?" he interrupted. "You mean, you actually want to fight?"
Barty sighed and muttered, "And there it is." Clearly, he replied, "Yes, Reg. Is it that hard to believe? Fuck, you know I don't give a damn about the Muggles. Hell, the only reason I got caught up in this mess was 'cause of Father, and I fixed that, so I might as well do the decent thing for once. Maybe prove that Mum wasn't wrong to…" Barty's façade dropped, and all Regulus could do was look down. Barty may have hated his father, but his mum was another story. She had always been kind to Regulus, despite everything he had dragged her son into.
With a wistful, hurt expression, Barty continued, "I still don't get why she did that for me. I was guilty. I was thoroughly guilty. I hadn't driven the Longbottoms insane, but I had helped, and I didn't stop them. For God's sake, Reg, we knew them! Sure, Alice Price was a piece of work, but I spoke to Frank every so often. He was one of the potions tutors, remember?" Regulus remembered. Barty was absolute shite at potions, so bad that Snape was assigned to be his tutor for five consecutive years. Regulus also remembered that both Alice and Frank had been friends with his brother. Seriously, Barty got to the point and asked, "You think there's any chance they—the Order—won't just kill me? I know I can't fix it, Reg, but this isn't enough." As if he thought he said the wrong thing, Barty amended, "Helping you isn't enough. The horcruxes are your redemption, not mine. I can't just sit around, and I can't go back. I can't go back to Azkaban. I'd rather die, you understand me?" Barty looked too scared for Regulus's liking.
"Yeah," Regulus said, a little stunned and surprised to find himself frightened. "No, I—I get it. I'll find something," he promised, the conversation starting to border on the surreal. "Can—can we not talk about this?" Regulus shakily asked, trying to rein in his sudden panic. Oh, God, this couldn't happen in public, and it was not the time. Shit, he wasn't visibly shaking, was he? Christ, why did this have to happen now?
Barty looked worried. All his problems tucked away for now, he asked, "Reg, are you all right?" Regulus nodded, unable to stop thinking about what Bellatrix was capable of and all those different ways he had thought about killing himself. That one nice, spring day, he had idly thought about slitting his wrists with a steak knife while he had been making breakfast. No, he had never tried to go through with it, but he had always had an imagination a bit too overactive for his own good. He could almost even feel it. That led to remembering when Bellatrix had done anything near the same. Oh, God, what Bella did… what Bella…
Barty looked a little frantic but said reassuringly, "Reg, she's not here. She's not here. Bellatrix is off screwing the Dark Lord or whatever she does in her free time. Laughs manically, whatever." Regulus couldn't stop shaking, and Barty was still hesitant to touch him. "Reg, please. You're fine. She's not here; you're safe. She can't get to you," Barty continued gently.
Regulus nodded, vainly attempting to regain calm. It was about a month before the next time he would see Bellatrix. A whole month. He would be safe for another month. Well, for the most part. Maybe. Barty finally put his hand on Regulus's shoulder to offer some comfort, and it was a while longer before Regulus felt he could properly deal with the world again without wanting to run and hide in bed. There were spiders underneath, hence why not underneath a bed. That idea was just mad. "I'm sorry," Regulus apologized distantly. "I shouldn't—I'm sorry. What—what were we talking about? I mean, before…"
"The Order," Barty filled in quickly, probably nervous that Regulus wouldn't react well if he brought up Bellatrix. Why would he? Regulus mentioned Bellatrix all the time. After all, she was a crazy, crazy woman, and everyone knew it (except for the five cousins, oh, they knew the truth, didn't they, that Bella was hardly crazy, no, she was just cold and pragmatic, not crazy, but they let the other people think she was crazy because that was so much more reassuring).
Regulus nodded and said, "Right. Um, I don't—I don't know. Maybe? You'd be better off asking Dorcas. She's better at these things." They had paid for lunch already, hadn't they?
Gently, Barty asked, "Do you want me to take you back to your house? Reg, you look awful." Too many replies raced through Regulus's mind, so he just nodded. Barty smiled and said, "All right. Let's go." He helped Regulus stand, even though Regulus was sure he didn't need the help. He wasn't an invalid. He was just ill, that's all.
"If Diana's not there, would you wait with me?" Regulus asked, cursing himself for sounding desperate. "Please?"
Barty may have forced a smile, but he said, "'Course, Reg. It's the least I could do."
Diana was not happy with her present situation. Why had her superiors insisted that she cooperate with the Department of Mysteries? Everyone there had something wrong with them. Diana cursed very eloquently and at length about what they were and what they should all do as she continued to make lunch for herself. Of course, she did have to thank the Director for letting her out of work before lunch, even if her lunch was less at a lunchtime than Diana would have preferred. To make it all the better, Terry was missing. What the hell was she supposed to tell Vesta? "Er, sorry, but I lost your husband"? Granted, that made it sound like he was a pet, but sometimes Diana thought that was the proper description.
As she continued to angrily chop fungus for her spaghetti sauce, she heard someone fumbling with keys at the door. "Oh, thank God. The idiot's back," she muttered, before realizing her sister might be the one at the door. Frantically, Diana tried to figure out an explanation as to why the patient was missing and she was alone at the moment.
The door opened, and Diana heard some man say, "Merlin, Vector lives here? I didn't think you could get even a flat a quarter as nice as this on what they pay teachers at Hogwarts."
As Diana tried to remember where a cricket bat was, her brother-in-law replied softly, "It was her parents' house, Barty." With a groan, he complained, "Shit, why in the name of God did I think it was a good idea to go out to lunch?"
"You're a crazy, crazy man?" Terry's friend suggested.
"I resent that," Terry rejoined automatically, triggering some deep, watery coughs.
Diana was so confused. Terry had friends? Terry had friends who knew Artemesia? She put down the knife she was using and walked into the front room. A tall, blond man had Terry's arm over his shoulder to keep Terry from collapsing. And Terry thought he was better. Ha. Even Diana could tell he still looked like shit. "Where the fuck were you?" she asked her brother-in-law bluntly.
The blond looked a little confused, so Terry again coughed and first explained, "My wife's younger sister." The other man nodded knowingly. Aware that he had already annoyed Diana, Terry apologized, "I was just out for lunch. I didn't mean to take so long."
"You collapsed on the Tube," the blond man reminded him.
"I'm fine," Terry insisted, anger seeping into his voice.
Diana silently cursed. He was still bitchy, so he was still sick. Putting on her best fake smile, she turned to the blond man and said, "Well, thanks for dropping Terry off. It's much appreciated."
The blond man didn't seem to react, but then he rolled his eyes and led Terry over to the couch. "She's as good a liar as your cousin," the blond commented, having taken a dislike to Diana. "You know which one I mean. I'll see you later."
Terry winced and nodded. "I'll see you then," he murmured in reply. Diana felt like hitting something. The idiot had gone out knowing he wasn't well, and now she had to deal with the man when he couldn't keep his emotions straight. Bloody wonderful.
The blond man nodded and took Diana's glare as the cue to leave. After she heard the stranger apparate, Diana turned to Terry and demanded, "What the hell were you thinking? And who the fuck was that?" Terry didn't answer, so Diana continued, shouting, "Was that one of your old friends? One of the people you've been ordered expressly not to talk to? What the hell is wrong with you? You said you wouldn't tell anyone! I don't want to have to explain to my sister why her husband's been brought up on charges of high treason, so stop acting like this!"
"I don't belong to the Agency, Diana," Terry replied coolly, staring at the wall next to her. After a moment, he frowned and shot Diana a black look. Steel in his voice, Terry claimed, "They don't own me. I've been following their orders for the past fifteen years. I didn't go to my parents' funerals. I haven't seen one of my cousins at all. That I've spoken to the other two is required by my mission. And my brother? Oh, my brother. I could tell him I was me, and… No, you've nothing to fear from him." He began to laugh bitterly, but he was cut off by a hacking cough. After he regained control, Terry muttered darkly, "It's not like it matters anyway. I'll either die or quit by summer, so your little handlers needn't worry about me."
At that point, Diana realized her brother-in-law had been drinking. Oh, she wanted to kill him right now. "I can't believe you're drunk. What is it, one-thirty? That's just sad," Diana said.
Terry scoffed and shot back, "You think that because I actually decided to just be honest for once that I must be drunk? Ha! You're worse than Sirius, and God knows that's difficult to do. At least he doesn't throw treason at me."
Angry, Diana snapped, "Christ, Terry, shut up. What the hell would Vesta think if she came home now?" Terry barely reacted, so Diana continued, "I know she'd wonder why you were acting like such an asshole. What the hell's wrong with you?"
After a brief laugh, Terry replied sarcastically, "Let's see. Not only were my parents cousins, but Mum was effectively schizophrenic, and Dad was manic-depressive. My brother and I got lucky, but then we both went and got shell-shocked. Granted, his is more Azkaban-induced while our eldest cousin just forced herself on me." At that, he had a half-mad smile on his face.
Diana stared at him in horror. Why the hell would he make shit up like that?
"You don't have access to the file, then?" he asked flippantly, deciding that fiddling with the cuff of his shirt was more important. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Terry, this isn't funny," Diana informed him shakily, starting to feel nervous. What the hell was wrong with him? "Really, stop it," she added for good measure.
"You think I'd lie?" he demanded hoarsely. With another curt laugh, Terry stood and declared, "You really are like my brother," before he walked up the stairs and left her in the living room staring at the staircase in silence broken only by the sound of coughing.
The only thought that could run through Diana's mind was: Vesta, do you have any idea what kind of man you married?
Vesta sighed as she walked into the house. Her day at work had been at best aggravating and at worst infuriating. No, she was not going to think about it. Throwing her coat on the banister, she walked up the stairs. Terry was asleep in bed, just where she left him. Whether or not he had been elsewhere in the interim was less certain.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Vesta pulled her boots off, wondering if she should wake her husband. He looked dead-tired (which meant he had been running around the city), but if he didn't wake now, he would be up for half the night. Grimacing, Vesta put her hand against his forehead. Hell, he was burning up again. With reluctance, she gently shook his shoulder to wake him. "Honey, wake up," she murmured quietly.
"…ten more minutes…"
Vesta smiled lightly at her husband and brushed some of his hair out of his eyes. He pulled the blankets more tightly around him, but he seemed to be waking. Blearily, he opened his eyes and faintly asked, "Vesta? You're back already?" He looked more than a little disoriented.
"It's almost seven," she replied softly. Vesta did not like the look of him at all. Trying not to frown, she gently asked, "Honey, you didn't try to do too much today, did you?"
Terry shut his eyes and seemed to be drifting off to sleep again. A little incoherent, Terry mumbled, "I went to lunch with a friend, but… Collapsed in the Tube, yelled at Diana, fell asleep. Busy day." He curled up with the blankets a little more.
Vesta cupped his face with her hand. Oh, he should not have tried to get out of bed. Whether or not he thought he could have was irrelevant. Even this morning she had been able to tell he was worse than yesterday, and whatever he had done today had exacerbated his illness. "Oh, Terry…" she murmured, continuing to stroke his face. (He had been so beautiful once.)
"'M fine, love," he insisted tiredly. After a minute or so, he looked a bit more awake and revised his earlier statement: "Actually, what I just said may have been a bit premature…" He struggled to get out of bed, and Vesta helped him to the bathroom. She held him between his bouts of nausea and subsequent vomiting. Why was he still so ill? Christ, he was even shaking.
Terry leaned in closer to Vesta, but he said nothing. She asked gently, "Honey, why did you go out? You know you're ill. I know you wish you were better now, but you're still far too weak." He didn't answer, but she didn't mind. She hadn't really expected him to.
They sat on the floor in silence. With effort, Terry finally managed to sit up straight and apologized, "I'm sorry. I…I needed to talk to someone. I couldn't take it anymore, being stuck here all day and night. It's hard, Vesta. I just don't think I can do this anymore."
Vesta frowned and looked down at the floor. She began, "Terry—"
"Please, love, please don't call me that," he begged, his voice raw with emotion.
"Regulus, it's fine," she said reassuringly. "I understand, and I don't mind. I'm just worried about you," Vesta added, making eye contact. She refrained from wincing. He really needed to go back to bed. He looked even more wretched than when she came home. However, Vesta was hesitant about suggesting it. Her husband was not the most amenable man in the world, but he would do what she asked. She just couldn't ask. He needed to go to St. Mungo's. Both of them knew it, but he would not willingly check himself in, even though he had been ill for going on three weeks. Oh, he thought she hadn't noticed the earlier symptoms, but she had. But if he wasn't taking any bloody medication again…
"I'm not forgetting my medicine," Terry reassured her, sounding tired. Vesta felt a little ashamed that she had been so obvious about her doubts. After a moment, Terry looked a little confused and murmured, "I think. Yesterday was Wednesday, right? Yes, it was, because three days ago was Monday. And I'm probably due for some more acetaminophen."
Vesta smiled weakly and, when he made to get up, helped him stand. He was in all likelihood cursing how weak he was, but Vesta was not going to chance him hurting himself. Oh, maybe she should have looked for a different antidote. One of the major side effects was a suppressed immune system. She would rather cope with a potential hemorrhage than risk losing him to disease. "Honey, if you're still ill next week, maybe you should skip a dose," she mentioned as she helped him back into bed. "You're not going anywhere near the Death Eaters while you're like this. They won't miss you, right?"
"Bella might," Terry murmured, shivering as he pulled the blankets around him again. "I'll get better, love, before any of that. The next full meeting is a while off, but if I'm still not well, I can't risk going off the medication. If someone gets sent looking for me, I have to be able to take a beating without worrying if I'll…"
Vesta set her jaw and demanded, "You really think I'd let them anywhere near you?"
"They won't listen. You and Diana are only half-bloods to them, not worth listening to," he murmured, looking away, guilty he had implied what he had. With a small sigh, he mentioned, "Speaking of, I need to apologize to Diana. I lost my temper when I came home."
Vesta let the subject of his heath drop for the moment and asked, "What did she say?" She was well aware that her sister had a penchant for the dramatic, and with Terry as he was, his patience had long been worn thin.
"I don't remember. I think she said something about—No. No, she was rude to my friend and then started railing at me about going out," Terry explained slowly, as he remembered. With a wan smile, he continued ruefully, "I deserved it, though. I said things I really shouldn't have." His expression darkened dramatically, and he nervously admitted, "I told her what Bella did."
Vesta blinked. "You did?" she asked. Vesta was going to have some words with her sister, then. Her husband could chastise himself well enough without her. Still, Diana must have said something amazingly inflammatory to make Terry lose his temper enough to admit that. Vesta sighed and asked, "Would you like me to talk to her instead?"
Terry weakly shook his head and replied, "No, I should—I should apologize. It was my fault. I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have." He looked absolutely miserable as he continued, "I'm pretty sure I can convince her I was exaggerating. She thought I was drunk anyway."
Vesta grimaced. Yes, she had to have a talk with her sister. Diana had been becoming more snappish with everyone recently, and it did not help that she was taking it out on Terry while he had about the same tolerance for brusque behavior. Vesta smiled reassuringly and said, "Well, I'll talk to her anyway. I'll be up with some soup for you soon, all right?"
Terry nodded and seemed to go back to sleep. Concerned, Vesta left the room quietly and went downstairs. She found her sister in the kitchen, angrily reading a trashy romance novel. Vesta sat down next to Diana at the kitchen table and asked, "What's going on? You know Terry hasn't been thinking, speaking, or doing anything properly lately, so what gives?"
Diana glowered and muttered, "It really does figure that you'd take his side."
"I'm not taking his side, Diana," Vesta mentioned patiently. Well, she was, unless Diana gave her good reason not to. Terry had done his best to dissuade Vesta from considering Diana at fault, so the only logical conclusion was that Diana said something that set him off. Diana remained silent, so Vesta continued earnestly, "I just want to know what happened, because Terry's going to drive himself mad with guilt before he works up the energy to apologize."
After a tense moment, Diana asked, "Do you have any idea what he's really like? I mean, really?" She had set her paperback novel down on the table and was staring intently at her sister.
"Of course I do. I am married to the man," Vesta reminded her sister. She remembered at that point that Terry had said he had mentioned his worst memory. To make sure her sister understood, Vesta added, "Diana, I met him before he became involved in the war. I know what happened between him and his cousin. Whatever he said—"
"But his family! Do you have any idea?" Diana demanded, completely ignoring Vesta's words. "If that wasn't enough, he as good as implied that he's…" Diana trailed off before asking Vesta, "And what if he is, Vesta? What if he is one of the Blacks? Aunt Hera will—"
Vesta stared at her sister dispassionately. Cutting Diana off, Vesta replied with a touch of anger, "I don't care. If I did care, I wouldn't have married him. I just told you, Diana. I knew him—knew who he was—far before I even entertained the idea of asking him out." After a frustrated sigh, Vesta continued, trying to sound reasonable, "Look, Diana, I won't deny that he…" Collecting herself, Vesta resumed almost pleadingly, "Terry, he—he has faults like any other man, but, Christ, Diana, you know he has a temper."
Vesta bit her lip. She needed Diana to be on her side. She needed it so much right now. Trying to keep calm, Vesta let herself admit, "He's really sick, Diana. I mean…" No, she was not going to break down. When she went back upstairs, he would notice, and he couldn't notice. He had enough to worry about already without worrying about his health. Trying not to cry, Vesta continued, "Oh, God, he's so ill. I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to be a doctor, Diana, but I don't know how to help him."
Diana stared at Vesta, obviously uncertain as to what she should do. Shamefaced, Diana murmured, "Vesta, I didn't mean to—"
"God, Diana, I know," Vesta replied miserably. "I know you didn't mean it."
"Do you want me to Obliviate myself? I'm not supposed to know about Terry," Diana offered. Staring down at the table, she explained guiltily, "It's why I yelled at him. His friend clearly knew who Terry really is, and he was ordered not to tell anyone."
Regaining her cool, Vesta nodded and replied, "I know, but as far as I can tell, he hasn't been. Terry mentioned one old friend who recognized him almost immediately, but said friend is apparently near genius-level even if he has the emotional maturity of a certain Danish prince." She was rewarded with a small smile from her sister, and so Vesta continued, "The others, from what I can tell, have deduced the truth, regardless of whether or not they inform Terry." The prime example of which was Sirius. Vesta didn't know why she had kept silent on the matter, even now. It may not have been her secret, but she hated keeping it from her husband.
"I'll go apologize later, after dinner, or whatever, then," Diana decided, sounding a little guilty. "I kind of said some stuff that wasn't really all that brilliant. Again, though: should I Obliviate myself? I know I'm not anywhere near the need-to-know list."
Vesta shook her head and answered, "No, Diana, just don't tell Aunt Hera. I'd rather do that myself, and we don't want everyone to know Terry's still alive."
Diana paused for a moment. Staring at Vesta with a suspicious look on her face, she guessed, "You and Artemesia have a running bet, don't you?"
"No," Vesta immediately replied. Diana continued to stare in suspicion. "No. We don't." Diana did not cease her staring, so Vesta relented, "She just wants to be present."
Diana nodded and sat in silence. Then, she asked innocently, "Can I come, too?"
Vesta rolled her eyes before swatting her grinning sister on the back of the head. In true form, Diana stuck out her tongue, and Vesta ignored her to find some condensed soup.
Coming Soon: Andromeda proves herself to be related to her sisters, and Dorcas makes a decision.
