Chapter 2
“You’ll get it, James,” murmurs Molly Weasley, James’ physio therapist, arms at the ready in case James falls. Again.
He just manages to grunt, gripping the two banisters on either side as he takes another painful step. His body is coated in a thin layer of sweat, and his muscles strain at the effort.
It’s hard, because three weeks ago he’d barely been able to stand, couldn’t put any pressure on his bad leg at all. And yet, when he reaches the end of the three foot walking poles, he doesn’t feel like it means anything.
His body is failing him. It’s failing him and he can’t stop it.
Regulus picks him up carrying a fresh ice filled water bottle, which James chugs gratefully. Molly talks to them both about James’ progress for a long time. He knows exactly what she’s going to say.
Complications, patience, and his favourite, that he’s making great progress.
His head hurts. It hurt when he woke up and it’ll hurt until he manages to fall into a fitful sleep.
“James,” Molly’s voice pulls him to the present. “This is completely normal. I’ve treated injuries like yours plenty of times. You’re working hard, you’re doing everything right. It just takes time.”
“I know,” he manages to get out. Molly’s been amazing. She hasn’t deserved a single
Regulus hands him his crutches, and James tries not to look irritated as he takes them. Getting into the car is awful, but at least he can do it by himself now that his arm cast is off. It still twinges, but Dr. Fortescue—whom his medical team has flown out to Toronto to monitor his care—says that he can expect that it’ll feel a lot more normal over the next month or so.
They don’t talk much during the car ride home. They haven’t really talked much these days. It’s all medical appointments and hockey meetings and contracts and physiotherapy.
It’s Regulus on the phone with Sirius when he’s out of town, and James’ head pounding too much to handle the gritty noise of phone speakers.
And Regulus works at a law firm, he can’t just take eternal time off. He has people relying on him. Cases that could help make the world a better place. He can’t just blow it all off for James. Which is why when Regulus pulls the car over, honestly, James is expecting him to…I don’t know, complain? Need time away from him? The last thing he’s expecting is the next words that come out of his mouth.
“I quit my job.”
“No.”
He can’t help it, the word leaves his mouth with such vindication.
“James,” Regulus says softly. “Look at me, love.”
He does, and it’s exactly what he knows he’ll see looking back. Regulus is just as tired as he is. Up at two am when James’ headache is splitting his body in half, and he can’t get himself to the bathroom to throw up, so Regulus is carrying him. He’s got semi-permanent worry lines etched into every corner of his face, because he loves him. James knows he loves him. But you can only do so much loving like this before it starts to tear you apart.
“I quit my job because I want to be the one there in your physio, not just Molly.”
“Molly’s a saint,” James argues weakly.
“She is, but I should be there. I want to be there.”
“Reg,” he’s trying not to cry. They still have him on a weird fucking medication right now for the pain. Not an opioid because James refused them after a few weeks. But this is almost worse because of the way it makes his chest hurt in a way that’s entirely separate from the physical pain. “You love your job.”
“And I’ll go back one day. I told them I need a year, and they let me.”
“Slughorn probably hates you for it.”
“Oh, definently,” Regulus quirks a smile. “But even he loves his wife enough to understand.”
“I never wanted your life to become this,” his voice waivers. “You never wanted the hockey, and the media, and the—the—“
“Stop,” Regulus takes his left hand in both of his own. There’s a scar where the bone had been sticking out, and another one a few inches up where they’d had to go back in and put a screw in so his bones wouldn’t misalign again. The screw’s gone now, but he still can’t shake the feeling that there’s something foreign in there. “You are my world. And it took me a long time to come around to it, but the hockey’s not so bad.”
James huffs a laugh, and there’s nothing but fondness in Regulus’ eyes.
“I know you want to do this on your own, but James, you can’t. It will kill you.”
Shame crawls up into his cheeks. “I don’t want this to be your life,” he repeats. “Reg, I might not get better—at least not to the way I was before. The way admin have shifted their tones—“
“Admin are just mad their players are human,” Regulus scoffs. “They hide injuries that need weeks or months of rest on the daily. They’re realizing they actually need to give you time, and they don’t like the cost of it.”
“What if they let me go.”
“They’d be stupid to. Another team would just take you, injuries and all, because once you can play again you’ll be worth every penny they can spare.”
“What if it’s the Oilers, or worse, an American team.”
That has Regulus pausing, “there’s always sabotage from within.”
And that has James laughing enough that he presses a hand to his head because of the ache it inspires. “I love you.”
“I love you too, now we’re going to go home and you’re going to rest.”
James tilts his seat back so he can close his eyes. “Will you read to me?”
“Maybe,” Regulus says slyly. “I choose the book though.”
“Deal.”