Time Has Come Today
The three of them are standing outside the bathroom door, Barty speaking, “Evan. . . Evan, c’mon.”
Regulus rubs his eyes, “Okay, he’s been in there all night. We have to do something.”
“Yeah,” Barty agrees.
They were told not to come in while the Chief decides on their punishment. Mary said it was so they could take care of Evan.
Everyone’s eyes fall to the homeowner.
Regulus blinks, “Why are you all looking at me?”
Dorcas gestures to the door, “Well, this is familiar territory for you.”
Regulus scoffs, trying to keep his voice down so Evan doesn’t overhear, “There is nothing familiar about this. Unfamiliar. Deni died. The woman he loves died.”
Barty stuffs his hands in his sweatpants pockets, “Yeah, but you’re all dark and twisty inside.”
Regulus isn’t sure how to feel about that, “Dark and twisty?”
Dorcas rolls her eyes, “The father with the Alzheimer’s thing and the mother you never talk about?”
Barty feels like he needs to add, “And the tequila thing and the inappropriate men.”
Dorcas folds her arms, “You’re dark and twisty inside, Regulus. And now Evan is all dark and twisty inside.”
“He’s supposed to be the cheerful one, remember?” Barty nods.
“So all of the sudden I’m the president of people with shitty lives?” Regulus snaps.
Barty waves it off, “Seriously, we have to do something.” He pauses, “Someone has to go in there.”
Again, they both look at Regulus.
On the floor, Evan lays down, reminiscing about his first days here. They threw a mixer for the new interns. He talked to Mulciber, who said he was too happy to be a surgeon. That he was soft and a pretty boy.
He blinks and Barty is laying right next to him, “Evan?”
“Hi.” He mumbles, eyes shut again.
“Maybe you should. . . change your clothes. Maybe you’d wanna wear something more comfortable?” He suggests.
“Stop it.” Evan opens his eyes again. Barty realizes how red they are, practically bloodshot. He noticed the tear stained face when he first walked in but this? Barty feels sick to his stomach.
“I know. Evan-”
His words are violent but his face never changes, like it’s frozen in grief. “Stop it. I mean it. Stop. . . talking. There is nothing to talk about. Do you understand me? There is nothing to discuss.”
Barty stares at him for a few moments, “I’m so sorry, Ev.”
“Me too,” he finally looks at his friend. “Me too.”
〚*〛
The man seems surprised they sent Mary down. He seems acquitted to inform her, “They usually don’t send a surgeon down for this.”
She ignores that, “What-what do I need to—how do I do this?”
The man will barely peel his eyes off his phone to say, “You just have to ID the body before I take him to the funeral home. . . so I don’t take the wrong guy.”
“That happens?”
He laughs like it’s funny, “You wouldn’t believe how many times I take the wrong guy.”
Someone rolls the body bag out, both Mary and the worker standing up. He unzips it casually, like someone’s body isn’t inside—like it was a backpack, eagerly trying to find a pen before class.
Mary takes a few moments, “That’s her. That’s. . . that’s Deni Duquette.”
“Perfect,” he claps his hands, zipping the bag closed. “Sign right here,” he points to the clipboard.
Mary does, “When is the funeral?”
“No funeral,” he explains, “the family asked to have the body sent to Memphis.”
All she can think about is how upset Evan will be. No funeral to grieve her at, no nothing.
She’s here and then gone.
〚*〛
Dorcas is sitting on the counter, flipping through a magazine. “Why are we making sandwiches again?”
“I’m making sandwiches, you’re sitting on your ass.” He corrects her.
“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “why?”
Regulus shrugs, “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to cook when someone dies.”
Dorcas nods, “I know what to do when someone dies, but making sandwiches is not the same as cooking.”
“Sandwiches are comfort food.”
“Maybe to you.” Dorcas looks him up and down.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
She squints, “You look so pent-up I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve never been comforted a day in your life.”
Regulus rolls his eyes.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asks.
“Me?” He shakes his head, “Nothing. It’s Evan we should be worried about.”
She tips her head in a magazine, “Oh, what did you do?”
“Deni died. Mckinnon got shot. Let’s have some perspective and acknowledge that what I did was a tiny, slightly small-”
“Fucking hell, Regulus, did you sleep with Potter again?” Dorcas laughs.
Regulus debates if the butter knife he used to cut the sandwich into triangles would be enough to rid him of this embarrassment. Maybe if he gouged it through his eye—but Dorcas would call an ambulance and James would do surgery. Maybe he should just deal with it, these things called emotions.
〚*〛
James is sitting on the stairs across the board, head in hands.
“Back already?” The chief asks.
“Never left,” James stifles a yawn, “I did a craniotomy on a, uh, ruptured saccular aneurysm.”
Dumbledore huffs, “I’ve been here all night, too. Had to see the autopsy on Duquette.”
“Yeah, have you seen Regulus?” He immediately backtracks, “Uh, Dr. Black. Have you seen Dr. Black? The younger one, that is?”
Dumbledore looks pissed he even asked, but in all fairness, James is so tired his brain didn’t even think about shutting up.
“Why?” He stares. “What’s going on with you two?”
“No, could you just—can you get somebody to cover my rounds for me so I can take care of some stuff?” James rarely asks for favors. He’s always doing them for other people. Dumbledore is about to agree when Mary struts over.
“Are you free, Dr. Potter? There is an incoming head trauma and the pit is overcrowded with early flu season.”
James retracts his earlier suggestion.
〚*〛
James has his patient, Giselle Toussaint, who was an unrestrained driver of a car that hit a railing. Ejected from the car.
Her husband is dripping sweat, “She was—we were coming to the E.R. we were both sick.”
Barty Crouch Jr. walks in, a smug smirk littered on his face. James knows Mary called him in. Figuring that since Evan was close with Dorcas that they should stay with him, the Chief being stern that Regulus can take the day off, for whatever reason.
He coughs, “We couldn’t shake this flu thing. She was better so I let her drive.”
Barty is trying to gesture him out of the room when Giselle, as disoriented as she is, asks, “Omar?”
He grabs her hand, relieved, “Honey?”
”Where are we?” She mumbles.
James checks out her head, “We have a dural laceration. Page Lupin. She is leaking spinal fluid. Let’s get an O.R. ready, okay?”
Giselle is incoherent, speaking about the dancing and the beauty of it. Omar is coughing, Barty helping him out of the room and to Mulciber, who takes over.
At the same time, an E.M.T. rushes over, a blue sack in his cradled arms.
“What’s going on?” Sirius asks, looking up.
“Premature newborn. Found in a trash can at Turner Prep School.” He says, an oxygen mask on the baby’s face. ”Umbilical cord is still attached.”
Sirius does a visual assessment, “You didn’t start an I.V. yet? He’s dehydrated.”
He calls for someone to get him a neonatal line, some equipment and then Sirius realizes where he is.
A giant room, full to the brim of very, very sick people. Coughing, sneezing, vomiting.
“Where are you going?” The paramedic asks.
“If you think I’m going to leave a sick, premature infant in the E.R.-”
“He has to be admitted,” a nurse reminds him.
Sirius cannot stand people sometimes. Did they forget this is his floor? His trauma section? Bullshit.
“Page Lily Evans!” He shouts, “Tell her to meet me in the NICU.”
〚*〛
“Black,” she enters the room.
“Premature newborn male with petechiae.”
Evans watches him give the baby medication, “Platelet count?”
“Seventeen-hundred.” He answers.
“Did you transfuse platelets?” Lily asks.
“Didn’t work,” Sirius mumbles, extra careful. He isn’t used to such tiny bodies.
“Where is the mother?”
He shrugs, “Don’t know.”
“Don’t know, Sirius, why don’t you know?” She quips.
He explains quickly, “Found him in a trash can at a high school.”
“They left him in a trash can?” Lily blinks, horrified.
“Interadominal bleeding on the C.T., might wanna run some more tests.”
Lily allows herself one singular moment of pity for this innocent child before barking out orders to a quiet intern in the back of the room, “I need a stat ultrasound and then infuse two grams of I.V.I.G. if there is no cranial bleeding. And someone finds out where the mother is. I need to test for maternal platelet antibodies.”
Emmeline slides the door open, “Dr. Evans? There are some people here about the baby.”
〚*〛
James is knee-deep into yet another surgery. “Clot is evacuated.”
“Are you ready to close?” Barty asks. The only thing James wishes was closed is his mouth.
But, like a good teacher, he replies, “I’m making sure there are no remaining bone fragments.” And then a more personal question, “How’s Evan?”
Barty, for some reason, seems offended he’d even bother speaking to him about Evan, retorting back, “How’s Regulus?”
〚*〛
Regulus is leaning his head against the table, hating himself for telling her.
But Dorcas said she’d talk to Evan, that he could get out of it if he told her the truth.
So he did.
And now he wishes he took grieving Evan over nosy Dorcas.
“So, let me get this straight,” she stares at him, “you had sex with James, in an exam room at the banquet?”
“Yes,” Regulus deadpans.
“Last night, you were fucking James?” She’s horrified now. Concerned, definitely.
“Yes.”
“You and McDreamy did the nasty.”
He snaps his head up, “What the fuck? Don’t say it like that. I’m not five.”
“I’m not judging you,” Dorcas says, although she clearly is, “I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it.”
“Dorcas-”
“Well, what did he say?”
“He said, Regulus, what does this mean?” He tells her.
“So, he has sex with you and he’s standing there all soppy and shit, and all he has to say for himself is ‘what does this mean?’”
“Mhm.”
〚*〛
Mary steps into the Chief’s office, “Sir, the I.D.C. is here, we had a couple come in this morning—James just finished a craniotomy on the wife—but the husband? He’s got severe flu symptoms: swollen lymph nodes, buboes. Turns out they came in contact with the plague.”
His face goes pale, “The plague?”
〚*〛
Evans steps up and overhears some of the arguing before even getting a word out.
She introduces herself, shutting them up, “I’m Dr. Evans. I’m treating the newborn. He has an emergency blood condition. I need to know whose baby it is I’m dealing with.”
Her eyes trail to the four young girls in patient chairs, wearing matching school uniforms.
One of the mothers is angry, “We’d all like to know that. Sara. . . talk.”
The brunette with purple glasses does, “I don’t know anything about any baby, Mom.”
The girl with the ponytail adds, “None of us do.”
Lily takes a step forward, “One if you must know something, otherwise you and your parents wouldn’t be here.”
“Our girls-” a blonde mother in jeans begins, “the principal said that they were the last people in the bathroom before that baby was found, so we thought before the police show up-”
A father starts waving his finger around, “One of you knows and you better confess.” He demands, “I don’t want my Lisa messed up in this.”
“Look, the police will be here soon.” A mother nods, “Can’t you just do some sort of D.N.A. test so the rest of us can get out of here?”
Lily turns back to the parents, “Results like that take days. And frankly, I’m not concerned with getting the rest of you out of here. If this baby isn’t treated, he is going to die. Now, I can do vaginal exams on each of the girls-”
A scoff, “My daughter is fourteen years old. She's not sexually active and I won’t have you violating her body.”
The dad laughs, “You won’t have it cause you know it’s your kid. I tell you what, you have my consent to do whatever it takes to prove my Lisa is innocent.”
“You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?”
Lily is berating the children again, “A child’s life is in jeopardy here. And it’s not the parents' consent I need.”
The glasses girl says, “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Just because we were in there doesn’t mean it’s our baby.” The brunette agrees.
Ponytail says, “Do we look like the kind of girls who get pregnant and throw kids into the trash?”
Lily’s eyes narrow in on the blonde girl, probably the youngest of them all. The one who is too shy to say a single word.
〚*〛
James hates himself for having to come to Barty to ask, but who else knows?
He bites the inside of his cheek, “Do you know if Regulus went home with Evan?”
“Dorcas too.” Barty rolls his eyes, “Bye.”
He’s trying to walk past him when they’re stopped by a man in a hazmat suit. “Are you Dr. Potter and Dr. Crouch?”
“Yeah.” James says, Barty nodding.
“I’m with the I.D.C.. Is anyone else in this room?”
Barty shakes his head.
The man turns to James, “You performed surgery on Mrs. Toussaint?”
“Yes.”
“She and her husband were in close contact with a victim of the plague. She may have been exposed.”
Barty cannot believe this, “Which means we may have been?”
“I gotta go.” James urges, “I can’t do this. I gotta get out of here.”
The man puts his hand out, “We are waiting on the diagnosis of Mrs. Toussaint. This room will be sealed off until we know the threat has been contained and you’re absolutely safe.”
Barty think he’d take the plague over quarantine with James Potter, “You’re not saying-”
“You cannot leave.” He interjects, slamming the door.
〚*〛
“They work fast,” Mary shrugs, listening to Albus complain about how Potter is out of commission for the time being. “Anyone who was in contact with the Toussaint’s is in quarantine. Potter and Crouch are not happy. But everything is under control.”
Mary’s pager goes off, listening to the sound of yelling. “I need help. Somebody. Please!”
She walks over to the door, “Sir?”
The man in the white hazmat suit turns, “No unauthorized personnel beyond this point, ma’am.”
Omar is staring at the two through the tiny window in the door.
“I get that he is under quarantine but he is also a patient,” Mary’s eyebrows shoot up, “I will not ignore a patient.”
“Hello.” Omar rasps, “I was starting to think nobody could hear me. How is my wife?”
“My name is Mary. Dr. Mary Macdonald. Your wife is out of surgery and is quarantined in recovery. But she is doing fine. You were asking for help?” She reminds him.
He tilts his head to the ceiling, “You know how many days I’ve been in here?”
“It’s only been a few hours.” Mary checks her watch.
“Really?” He says, voice trickling down to a whisper, “I’m losing it. I’m losing track of time.”
“Okay, Sir,” Mary says, “you are sweating. I need you to sit down. Get back in bed.”
He steps toward the bed, still speaking, “Can you find out about my wife, Giselle?”
“Like I said, Sir, she came out of surgery just fine, but I can check on her status again, just stay calm until I get back.”
He is panicking immediately, “Wait, wait no. No, just. . . just stay a minute. Please.”
Mary can’t bring herself to leave, “Alright, I’m staying.”
“Omar,” he points to himself. “Call me Omar.”
“Okay,” she sighs, “I’m right here.”
〚*〛
Sirius doesn’t ring the doorbell, just struts right in the house, bags full.
“Sirius.” Regulus breathes, “What are you doing here?”
“James asked me to drop off some food. He’s in a quarantine. I brought food because James was going to cook for you guys and Evan.” He lays the groceries on the counter. Beginning to unpack them as his brother stares.
Meanwhile, Dorcas is taking her turn, trying to talk to him. “This thing you're doing, Evan? It’s not healthy. I mean, you’ve gotta take off that suit.”
“What are you guys talking about?” He says, cheek pressed up against the tile floor, “Outside in the hall?”
“We do this thing when someone dies,” Dorcas tells him, “people bring over food, family come over. It honors the dead.”
“Sounds nice.” He looks at her, changing the subject immediately. It's much more morbid than before, “Did you know they took her body away? I will never see her again. How would you feel if you never saw Mckinnon again?”
〚*〛
The parents, Dr. Evans, and Chief Dumbledore are crowded in a conference room, discussing the options. The girls sit outside the shut door.
The father is enraged, still, “I’m giving you permission to do this thing. What are we waiting for?”
Lily hates incompetence, she repeats for the fifth time, “If your daughter doesn’t want to do it, I can’t force her.”
“They are all minors, we have a say.” A mother jumps in.
Albus is the only one standing, “No, you don’t. If someone doesn’t want to submit to a vaginal exam, they don’t have to. It’s the law.”
The father grabs his coat, “That’s it, I’m taking Lisa home.”
Lily is about to say something when Albus beats her to it. “You do that, Sir, and I will have you arrested before you hit the parking lot.”
“The law isn’t the only thing in play here.” Lily tells them, trying to diffuse the situation, “If I do an exam and the girl is a virgin, there could be bleeding, trauma, not to mention the emotional stress.”
A mumble from the blonde woman, “Well, if I had to take a guess as to whose kid won’t have to worry about that-”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
The fighting erupts again. These people are like children.
The clock is ticking.
〚*〛
“We have been exposed to the plague.” Barty paces around the lockers, James laying on a bench, using a rolled-up towel as a pillow, trying to get some rest.
“They don’t know it’s the plague.” He tells the intern. If he lets himself start freaking out, this will go South, fast.
“The men in white suits, they’re just making a fashion statement?” He mocks, “It’s the plague, Potter.”
“It’s a precaution.” James says, shutting his eyes. “When the blood work comes back we will leave.”
“And I can get away from you.” Barty smiles, “That does sound nice.”
James sits up, “You’re aware that I’m your attending, right? That I am your boss.”
“Please,” Barty gawks, “right now you’re not my boss. You’re the dick who screwed Regulus over.”
“Me?” James scoffs, “Can I remind you that you two were the ones that decided-”
“You broke up with him and I swooped in. Big fucking whoop. Maybe don’t leave him if you don’t want to be left!” Barty shouts, having held this in for so many days. It feels good to finally tell James off, actually, “Seriously, Potter, get over yourself. Yes, I fucked Regulus. But guess what? He still is in love with you. So maybe stop whining about what happened, stop complaining, stop doing all the things that make me want to punch you in the face, and for the love of God, just get back together with Regulus. You don’t know what it’s like being around him when he misses you. He’s getting all cranky and even more pessimistic than usual. And trust me when I say, yes, I came onto him, but I will never do it again because I have moved on. More than that, Regulus doesn't want me.”
James stared, a little dazed, “Regulus misses me?”
It doesn't even surprise Barty that that is the only thing James could focus on. Of course he would.
〚*〛
Lily is whispering to Albus, “Safe haven laws. All those girls would’ve had to do is drop the baby off at a fire station or a hospital. Now. . . it’s a mess.”
He leans in, “What are our options here?”
“Blood typing.” She racks her brain, “Take a sample from each of the girls. The baby’s blood type is double-O. If the girls are A or B it means the baby isn’t theirs. “
“Do it.”
〚*〛
Regulus leans against his fridge, watching his older brother whip up a meal. It’s Indian food. He said that he saw James and Effie make it once, that’s all he needs to learn something.
“Everyone thinks I’ll know what to say to Evan,” he rolls his eyes, “I don’t know what to say to him. Dark and twisty Regulus. If I’m dark and twisty, that’s not my fault.”
“Probably true.” Sirius says, cutting vegetables. “Do you think that I am unlovable? Cause, you know, I’m starting to think that I might be.”
Regulus stares at him, “Sirius, I’ve gotta go check on Evan, why don’t you keep cooking and do less thinking.”
Evan never moves, just lays in the same spot, doesn't even look up when Regulus opens and closes the door, laying beside him.
“You know,” Regulus starts, “i don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to say to you.”
“When Dylan died-” Evan starts, “when the bomb went off, did you feel like. . .”
“What?”
“Like you were moving in slow motion.”
Regulus doesn’t talk about the bomb very much. James asked him every single day for weeks, hoping that if he could just conversationalize it, maybe it would get easier. He never did. It never got easier.
“He was there and then he wasn’t.” Regulus turns his head to the ceiling. “Liked I blinked and he was gone.”
If he is going to talk about it with anyone, at least Evan gets it.
He takes a slow inhale, “I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. . . and everything around me is. . . moving so fast. And I just want to go back. When things were normal. When I wasn’t poor Evan was lying on the bathroom floor in a suit with his. . . his dead fiance.” He pauses long enough for the tear to fall out of his eye and onto the floor, a minuscule puddle left behind, “But I am. So I can’t. And I’m. . . just stuck. There’s this pressure because everyone is hovering around me, waiting for me to do something or say something or flip out or yell or cry some more. And I’m happy to play my part, I’m happy to say the lines and do whatever it is that I’m supposed to be doing, if it will make everyone feel comfortable. But I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be this person. I don’t. I don’t know who this person is.”
“Evan. . .”
“How did this happen?” He asks, rhetorically, “How did we end up here? Why am I alone? Where is Deni?"
Regulus wants to try and comfort him or make things better, but he can’t, he doesn’t really know how. Instead, he just whispers back, “You’re not alone, Evan. Okay?”
〚*〛
On the fifth hour of quarantine, James and Barty are rummaging through people’s lockers, trying to find something to eat.
“Warm soda?” James looks at the can, “Who keeps warm soda in their locker.”
Barty rolls his eyes, “As usual, Dorcas is too lazy to stock up her locker with food.” He slams the door, moving onto the next.
“Here, look at this.” James opens another, “Granola, cookies, muffins. Who eats this much?”
Barty turns and stares, “Oh, that was Evan’s locker. He ate a lot, said it kept his energy up.” He only takes some of it because he knows Evan’s not coming back.
“Gentlemen.” Albus says, standing on the other side of the plastic wall. He essentially says that he cannot let them out. That Giselle passed, complications arose from the surgery and James wasn't there to pull a miracle on her.
James leans against a locker, Barty passing him a tub of muffins. They’ve been in here so long that it’s starting to get to him, he’s starting a conversation with James Potter, for fucks sake.
“So, I heard about your parents.”
James stares at him, his contracts dry. “Regulus told you that?”
“Regulus and I tell each other everything. Relax, I’m not going to shout it from the rooftops.” He assures him, “I was just surprised.”
James laughs, sourly, “Me too.”
Barty doesn’t know why he tells him, why he even feels inclined to, maybe he does have the plague, based on this sudden empathy for Potter. “You know, when I was younger, my dad kicked me out of the house when he realized I slept with men.”
James chews as he listens, unsure of what to say to him right now.
“So, I know what it’s like. I’m sure your dad probably was a better father than mine, even before, but it sucks. I guess what I’m saying is to not ruin your life with Regulus because your parents don’t approve.” He nods, staring at his hands, “I haven’t talked to him in years,” he leaves out the part about his mother, about the money, her disappearance, all of that. The only person in the world who even knows is Regulus. “My life is way better when I’ve let myself be happy, despite his hatred. So, if it’s a choice between Regulus and your father? Choose Regulus. For all of our sakes.”
He sort of sees him in a new light, “Barty, I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
“Don’t say sorry, I just don’t want you to make the wrong decision.” Barty eats, “I know you like to people-please everybody but. . . right now? You’re going to hurt somebody, and if your biggest crime is loving Regulus, then I think you’ll learn to live with that. Don’t lose him.”
James wants to give him a hug, he doesn't, afraid Barty might actually attack him. Instead, he speaks softly, “I’m sorry that I hurt him. Thank you for taking care of him. Even if I still hate the fact you slept with him.”
Barty laughs, his smile boastful, “He’s my best friend, if you hurt him one more time, I’ll seriously injure you.”
James nods, “I’m going to talk to him tonight. Fix things, if he’ll let me.”
〚*〛
Lily is staring at the tiny baby, barely alive, when the results come back.
“Karen and Lisa are not a match.” Emmeline tells her.
“And then there were two.”
〚*〛
“Mary!” Omar shouts, eyes wide, “I’m feeling better. A lot better. I think the fever broke, which is good, right?”
“That’s very good,” Mary acknowledges, heart heavy.
“How’s my wife?”
“Omar,” she sighs, having dread this since she found out. It's the worst past of her job, the absolute worst. Having to be the bearer of the worst news. Having to watch someone's heart break in real-time when they learn their loved one has died. “For Giselle, being exposed to the plague, it-it complicated things. Complicated what things? We did everything we could.”
“No.” He steps back, “No.”
“I’m so sorry, Omar.”
“No, no, no, no, no. No!” He hyperventilates.
“Omar,” Mary places her hand on the wood of the door, “come on, breathe.”
He’s gasping for air, coughing. Mary tries to rip the tape off, the man in the hazmat suit shoves her backwards, “You cannot go in there!”
“He can’t breathe,” she points, “somebody has to go in.”
He looks like he might pass out. Mary calls his name, over and over. He bangs on the door, screaming to be let out.
“Omar,” Mary demands, “look at me! Put your hand against my hand.” Repeating it over and over until he staggers back to the glass, placing his hand on hers. “Put your hand on my hand! Good,” she tells him, “good.”
He’s staring at her, head touching the glass, “I can’t-I can’t.”
“Can you tell me my name?” Mary asks him.
He nods, throat raw, “M-Mary.”
“Mary, that’s right.” She says.
“I want Giselle. I have to save her. Please. . . let me out of here.”
Mary’s eyebrow furrows, “I wish I could help you, Omar. I wish I could turn back the clock and make it yesterday. You don’t know how much I wish for that.” She says. Yesterday her favorite intern was still her favorite, yesterday he wasn't in trouble with the law or the hospital. Yesterday he was a surgeon.
Omar is replaying the moment in his mind, “I shouldn’t have let her drive, she was sick.” He squeezes his eyes shut, “I should’ve taken over.”
“I know.” Mary reflects, “I should’ve taken over too. But, we can’t go back. Look, even if I could let you out of here, you can’t help Giselle now.”
Omar sobs, sliding down the side of the door, away from where Mary cannot see him.
〚*〛
Barty has gone back to pacing, “That woman died. She actually died.”
James is washing his face with cold water, trying not to fall asleep. It’ll make his contacts burn even worse than they are now. “That doesn’t mean we will.”
“Is it hot in here?” Barty huffs.
“No.”
“Then why am I sweating?” He gestures to his scrubs, still damp.
“Because you are pacing, sit down.”
Barty shakes his head, “No, my pulse is rapid.”
“Because you’re still pacing.”
“Here, feel me.” Barty says, sticking his forehead out.
“I’m not going to feel you,” James ignores him, “you’re fine.”
Barty feels sick, “I can’t die. If you die, it won't matter because you’ve done shit. Married, divorce, relationship. Whatever. All I’ve been is a mistress. And Evan—shit, Evan doesn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“I don’t know!” He shouts. “It’s not like I can tell him anything, his fiance just died. And he’s straight. So, really, there is no point.”
James is intrigued now, “You like Evan?”
“Fuck off.”
“You do!” James smiles, thinking about it. Evan and Barty kind of makes sense to him, in a weird way. Barty's so. . . hostile, and Evan has only ever been sweet. Maybe he'd calm him down.
“Alright, glasses, why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Barty snaps at him.
“You should tell him,” James encourages him, “you should tell him before it’s too late.”
“Before I die of the plague?” Barty leans his head back.
James honestly can't believe he is so worried about getting sick right now, "Before he moves on from Deni and finds someone else. Let him know you’re an option, at least.”
〚*〛
Sirius watches Regulus walk straight into the kitchen from where he is laying on the couch. He takes the time to try to find Evan himself.
“Hi.” Sirius lays down, trying to find his eye-line. “How are you?”
If Evan’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, “Go away.”
“I know the sort of pain you’re feeling right now,” he says.
Evan scoffs, “No, you don’t.”
Sirius turns to his side, “I lost someone I cared very much for before too. He was one of my closest friends. His name was Amos Diggory. He was a trauma surgeon, like me, and we were stationed together.”
“What happened?” Evan asks, curious, not as angry anymore.
“We got trapped,” Sirius says, “I didn’t know it at the time but he sacrificed himself so I could get out. He died so I could live.”
Evan hesitates, wondering if Sirius can tell him exactly what to do. “How do you move on? I-I feel like I never will.”
Sirius frowns, “It takes a long time,” he lies, “but eventually it dims. It goes away.” That concept doesn’t really apply if you can’t forget. If every time you close your eyes, the memory slips in and after a few hours of sleep, it’s not a memory, it’s real life.
It’s replaying, but Sirius doesn't feel like he’s watching. He’s just there. He’s there and he cannot get out.
That’s why he sleeps with the doors shut, in a locked, quiet house.
He’ll start screaming, fighting, he’ll do anything to get out of his own brain.
There’s no harm in telling Evan that it’ll resolve. That the pain can pass, it’ll ebb and flow, linger for a long time, before the river cascades down to a leaky faucet, the grief dripping out instead of raging downstream.
〚*〛
Lily is speaking to the two girls, their eyes latched on the baby in front of them, “There he is,” she says, “that’s your son. I want you both to look at him. . . because it’s not true that you did nothing wrong. You both are wrong. You’re wrong for covering this up. You’re wrong for lying about it. You’re wrong for letting this little baby, this sweet, innocent beautiful little boy, suffer like this. He’s dying and it’s your fault. It’s both of your faults and the thing is, the truth will come out. In time, it will come out, it always does. It just does. And when it does, this baby could be dead.”
Shannon looks at Dr. Evans, tears in her eyes, “Just don’t tell my mom, okay?”
Lily takes a relieved breath, taking the girl into her arms, “Thank you. Thank you for telling the truth.”
The little girl clings onto her, scared out of her mind.
〚*〛
It’s been nine and half hours since they got quarantined. Barty is leaning against the wall, lifelessly, “You really don’t feel anything?”
“I only feel like I’ve been here for a very long time. Like it might be too late.” He frowns, head on his knees.
The plastic is ripped down, a man speaking, “Thank you for your cooperation, doctors, you will have to go on a course of antibiotics, but the threat has been contained.”
James pops up, “Good.”
Barty blinks, “What?”
The man stares at him, concerned, “You’re free to go.”
〚*〛
In surgery, Mulciber is assisting, “Poor guy,” he swallows, trying to appease Dr. Evans, “the minute he is okay, we have to turn him over to a mother who is going to juvie, and grandparents who are so clueless that they didn’t even know their own child was pregnant.”
She’s positive, “You can get over a bad childhood. You can have the worst crap in the world happen to you, and then you can get over it. All you gotta do is survive.”
Lily knows plenty of people who are much stronger than the shitty things that happened to them.
〚*〛
Barty and James walk inside together, the house dark.
Sirius is cleaning up the kitchen when his best friend shows up. “James, hey.” He says, putting dishes up, “Want a plate, you missed dinner?”
He’ll eat leftovers tomorrow, “No, I’m alright.” He’s had enough snacks to last him a lifetime, “Thank you for bringing the food. And cooking it.”
Sirius cuts straight to the point, “Regulus is in his room, if that’s what you’re doing here.”
James engulfs Sirius in a hug. His arms wrapped around his body. With all of the chaos surrounding his family and Regulus and everything, he hopes Sirius doesn't feel like he’s neglecting their friendship.
“I love you,” James tells him.
“Ya, you big sap,” Sirius claps his back, “I love you too.” He peels back, “Goodnight.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sirius drives home, unlocking the door to see his dog, happily waiting for him. So, yeah, he’s alone, but not really.
Even if every single person in his life finally realized they’d be better off without him, Sirius would still have Padfoot.
That’s something, right?
〚*〛
Regulus hears his door creak open, the hallway light flooding in. He sits up, able to tell who it is from their shadow alone. He clips on the light, not reacting to the sudden brightness.
James shuts the door behind him, “Sorry, did I wake you?”
Regulus shakes his head no, “Hi.”
“Hi,” James steps forwards, “I was going to come over this morning but, well-”
Regulus snorts, “I heard you got quarantined with Barty.”
He smiles, “Mhm,” then clears his throat, having practiced this in the car on the way over, “Regulus, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you. . . forever. I know I’m a little late, in coming to terms with everything. But I—well, Barty told me something, he said that if it was a choice and I had to pick between you and my family, Regulus, I pick you.” He tells him, “I choose you in every single life I get. I love you.”
Regulus stands up, right in front of James, sitting wasn’t enough.
His hands find James’, their fingers brushing up against one another, “So, what does this mean?”
“I want you back, baby.” James’ hand travels to cradle his face, tucking a wild curl behind his ear, “I need you.”
Regulus pulls James down, lips on each other’s.
Right here, right now, Regulus feels completely, one-hundred percent whole. Nothing can get to him. Nobody can. He’s got James, the world is back on its axis.
“Stay tonight.” Regulus asks him, mouth only leaving for a second to do so.
James smiles, “I need to shower.”
Regulus kisses the corner of his mouth, “I could use another shower.”
〚*〛
Dorcas steps inside Marlene’s room, finally. The blonde one asks, “Where have you been all day?”
Dorcas slips her shoes off, “Trying to get Evan off the floor.”
“Did it work?”
Dorcas waits for her to scoot over so she can slide into bed next to her before she answers, “No. How are you?”
Marlene deflects, “How are you?”
Dorcas can’t answer, tears bubbling up. Emotions never hit her like this. So hard, so sudden. Like they came out of nowhere.
Marlene isn’t even really sure how to react, her good hand sliding up and down her girlfriend’s back, cautiously.
Dorcas opens her mouth to speak, taking a few seconds before any actual words come out, “Don’t ever die.”
Marlene nods, “I’ll do my best.” She tugs her closer.
〚*〛
Evan grabs Barty’s hand, letting him pull him onto his legs. Barty pulls his jacket off, undoing the tie around his neck.
It's time to stand up, get off the floor, and at the very least pretend like his entire brain doesn't want to permanently shut off.
Barty grabbed a t-shirt and pants for Evan, letting him get dressed. “C’mon,” Barty says, opening the door, “let’s get you to bed.”
Evan lays there, watching as Barty is about to leave.
“Can you—Barty? Would you stay?”
Barty nods, “Course.”