For James
When the doctors said that James was going to be ok, he’d kind of thought that meant it wouldn’t take that long.
James should probably stop assuming when it came to shit he knew nothing about.
Yes, he was actually allowed unrestricted access to his phone once the concussion passed and walk around when someone was in the room with him, but boy was he as far away from the ice as he’d ever been.
He was walking, but sometimes his foot would just kinda give in and make him stumble, and it felt weird when he only had some feeling in his feet. Kind of like there was a thick layer of rubber at his soles, making it feel like he didn’t have any contact with the ground.
At least he could watch hockey now.
“That’s ridiculous.” Fleamont said, pointing his hand at the screen in front of them.
As James was locked in that house for the foreseeable future, his parents had been actively trying to not make him lose his mind. This included watching a lot of games with him. The hockey world didn’t stop just because he had to.
“That’s Montrose for ya.” he said flatly. James wasn’t exactly sure what was in the arena air that night, but the Magpies and Catapults had been going at it. Nobody was scoring, but they were racking in penalties like they were seeing who could get the most time in the sin-bin.
Surprisingly to absolutely nobody, it was Dumas who’d decided to get himself in a fight with Crawford, a d-man from the Catapults. No wonder Sirius turned out to be the kind of player he was when Vincent Dumas had been his favourite player for years.
It wasn’t just that they were both very rowdy and the guy you’d place in front of the camera’s, but they kind of just played similarly as well. They weren’t very tactical, but they relied a lot on the fact that they could take a check and deliver it back double.
“I hope you’re not planning on playing like that.” Fleamont said, shaking his head as he watched the cameras follow Dumas into the penalty box, still screaming at Crawford.
“You’re worrying about the wrong one.” he responded.
“Even Sirius isn’t as bad as this guy.”
James snorted. “That’s just because the NCAA is super strict about it, and we have to wear the cage or the bubble.”
“And you look darn cute doing it.”
He reached out to swat at his father. That was the thing about college hockey that sucked. While guys his age had already been drafted into the NHL, he was wearing a bubble in fucking Santa Fe. Hard to take it seriously.
“We’re grown men, dad, you can’t go around calling us cute.» he protested, but Fleamont only chuckled at that.
«I brought you into this world, and I’ll call you cute as I damn well like.»
James shot him a sideways glance, only barely catching Dumas bringing Crawford down to the ice before he did. «I’m pretty sure mum was the one who did most of the bringing.»
Fleamont scoffed. «I’m pretty sure it was a conjoined effort.»
«I’d hope so, I’m not feeling up for bearing the sin of all man and being hammered to a cross just yet.»
«Don’t you worry, you look like my carbon copy.» he assured him, and James couldn’t disagree. Whenever he looked at old pictures of his father, he’d always seen the uncanny resemblance between them. Biggest difference was their hair, which he’d clearly gotten from his mother. «Besides, I’ve yet to see you perform some miracles.»
James crossed his arms. «Well, the doctors said my injuries were miraculous.»
One of the worst things about being able to move around again was that the crash always hit him harder. Like clockwork, he would be in bed by seven, knocked out. Every single movement was tiring, and some nights he was simply just straining his neck too much.
Who knew breaking your neck caused limitations? James should have thought of that before putting it to the test.
He tried not to fall asleep until the hour was more reasonable, because then he’d just end up waking earlier and earlier, to where his days were completely backwards.
Instead, he settled into his bed, flicking through different movies to watch. Some part of him wanted to watch the one about those gay cowboys, but he did not particularly feel like bawling his eyes out. That also scratched Interstellar from that list.
Just before he ended up putting on Saving Private Ryan for the millionth time, there was a light knock on his door. His mother stuck her head inside, greeting him with a smile.
Since he’d gotten better, she was the first one of his parents to return to work. Unlike his father, her work couldn’t be done from home. She had patients that really needed her.
«How are you feeling?» she asked with a low and soft voice.
Because of her return to work, he didn’t get to see too much of her. His days were spent with his dad, either catching up on hockey or watching some really old westerns.
«Tired.» he said, because there was no point in trying to hide anything from her. She could see herself that he wasn’t exactly feeling perfect.
«I guessed so. Do you want anything? Maybe some hot chocolate?»
That made him smile. «No thank you.»
There was nothing better than his parent’s hot chocolate, but that just made him more sleepy. If he’d been anyone normal, he would have asked for coffee instead, but that shit only made him pass out.
Also, it just tasted awful.
«Alright then.» she smiled back, but made no move to leave or close the door.
James raised his eyebrows at her in question.
She huffed before finally letting herself completely in his room.
«Well, I found something for you on the porch.»
James’ eyes trailed down to find her hands holding something boxy and blue. It took him a second to clock that she was holding a book, and a particularly beat up at that.
«For me?» he asked, confused.
Euphemia nodded, stepping forward to place the book in his hands.
He could tell from a distance that it was a well read book, but up close it just looked like it had been abused.
There were bent corners, old water damage to some of the pages, a huge rip going down half the cover right beside the spine. The colour had slightly deteriorated in certain places, though he could clearly see the gold colour of the Corinthian helmet and the title.
He ran his fingers over it, feeling the letters and the helmet sticking up from the flat surface.
The song of Achilles, the title read.
«I just saw it when I took out the trash, I don’t know who placed it there.» Euphemia continued.
James shot her a look. «How do you know it's for me then?»
She shrugged. «Open up the first page.»
He did, and a slip of paper fell down from the book. He quickly picked it up, reading the neat handwriting.
For James,
if you ever get tired of Nancy Drew.
He blinked up at his mom, who tried looking away innocently, but he could see the playful expression in her face.
«This isn’t what it looks like.» he tried saying, but his mother damn near started giggling.
«Of course, darling.» she said, trying to look all serious.
James’ face broke out in an involuntary grin, trying very hard to stop the heat in his chest from spreading to his cheeks.
He failed.
«I’m serious, I don’t know who this is from.» he tried assuring her, but she didn’t look slightly convinced.
It was absolutely horrible. The second his mother caught just the slightest glance of anything slightly romantic, she started acting like a pre-teen, making it such a big deal. James was mostly just embarrassed because she was acting like it, and telling her that it was nothing like that would only make her more suspicious.
«If you say so.» she shrugged again before turning to leave, but James hit after her with the book.
«Seriously mom, it’s nobody.»
She spun around in the doorway, making an overly shocked expression. «I never mentioned a somebody? Is there a somebody, James?»
He couldn’t have rolled his eyes more if he’d tried. His mother was such a pain. Now she was going to go around thinking somebody was in love with him, and his refusal was just going to make her think he was in love right back. He felt sorry he had to disappoint her there.
«Oh my god, would you stop? It’s not like I’m thirteen, mom, I’ve had girlfriends.»
«Girlfriend.» she clarified. «Singular. Don’t even try lying to me, I made sure we never taught you how to do that, don’t embarrass yourself.»
«Okay, fine, I’ve had one girlfriend, but my point still stands. If this was somebody I was talking to - it’s not - then it wouldn’t be like it was my first tango, you can calm it with the excitement.»
He didn’t realise he’d fucked up before her wicked grin turned even worse. «Well, I didn’t mention a somebody, and I certainly didn’t mention the word ‘girlfriend’, but it’s nice that you feel that way about whoever gave you that.»
He could have slapped himself internally if he could revert his hands or something. «Mom…»
She closed the door on him.
«Shit.» he groaned into his hands. His mother was an excellent judge of character (it was her job, after all), but sometimes she could get it so awfully wrong.
She was probably just picking up on the fact that he was lying, because he was pretty sure he knew who this was from.
He picked back up the note and the book and studied the handwriting. Unless Sirius had taken up some handwriting lessons and then miraculously picked up a book, there was only one person that knew about his Nancy Drew adventure.
Not that he was calling the writing anything but pretty, but he’d expected Regulus’ penmanship to be an old style and pretty cursive, like it was written in the 1600s about a grain shortage and heretics (it was just a girl whistling to the birds).
This was more of a modern and slacky style, though he could tell the writer hand control over the pen.
The second thing that confused him was the state of the book. He remembered seeing the bookshelf in Regulus’ apartment, the books all nice and clean. He didn’t see a single cracked spine, though that might have mostly been because they were nearly all hardcovers, because pockets would probably look too ugly or something.
This book was bright blue with a flaming red line down its side, and a sickening golden helmet at the front. It wasn’t just what James would have expected from a library book, but somehow even worse. The thing was falling apart.
He flipped through the pages, and was surprised to find each and every one filled with post it’s and handwriting. Was he completely sure this was Regulus? He couldn’t picture him doing this to one of his precious books, but who else would know about Nancy Drew?
Not only could James vividly remember Regulus flipping out on Sirius after putting a dog ear in one of his books, but Regulus had always had an eye for pretty things. The different and bright colours of post it’s were anything but, creating a dirty and messy look if it all. James got stressed even looking at it.
He read through some of the things written in one of the pages along the margins, some in smaller and bigger post it’s.
He has seen enough heroes go eagerly down their path to know what his fate will be.
Our meaning of the word ‘hero’ does not correlate with the Greek, just the same as our morals don’t.
Most of the scribbles seemed to be some sort of analysis of the book, but there were others that weren’t quite as professional. One of the paragraphs described Achilles’ armour and weaponry underlined.
Maybe they should have considered ankle protectors?
That made James snort.
It was funny, but didn’t make James a whole less confused. Was this actually Regulus that had given him this?
He considered texting him about it, but decided not to. Now that he was reminded of him, he realised that they hadn’t actually talked since James called him in the middle of a lecture. By now, that had been weeks past.
Still unsure about the whole situation, he flipped it over to the first page, starting to read through the words. Every now and then, there would be a little note on the side. Sometimes they were analytical, and other times they were just comments about whatever was being said.
From the very first time Patroclus sees Achilles, he perceives him as perfect. He’s the boy Patroclus wishes he could be.
It was an interesting observation, and likely one James would not have come up with himself. He couldn’t say it didn’t make any sense, because Patroclus was not shy in describing his shortcomings, and there Achilles is, the picture perfect guy he was.
Reading on, he only stumbled across more notes making him think. One that caught his attention in particular was that on two different occasions, he saw words circled around with the word ‘three’ written on the side. He tried to make some correlation to it, but there was no use.
He focused his eyes on a post it.
His telling is inconsistent and unreliable. Last chapter he told about a knight giving him dice, but here he doesn’t remember. It’s told in retrospect, and though it’s told from his own point of view, the story isn’t about him. It’s about Achilles. Like the songs the Greeks wrote about one’s accomplishments, this is a story written full of bias. Patroclus is omitting or changing certain elements of the story, because his bias comes from his love.
The story itself was interesting enough, but he started to get more and more interested in the notes in the margins. It was like a story of its own, one of Regulus discussing with himself and crossing out older observations and counter-argumenting himself. Regulus would make character analysis on Patroclus like there was no tomorrow, pointing out when he was probably glossing over things.
Piece by piece, James started to understand why Regulus loved literature. If he’s been able to see the story the same way, he would have too. Regulus found something between every line, in places James wouldn’t have even begun to look.
His original plan had been to keep himself awake until it was at least night time, but that plan was quickly turned upside down. Before he knew it, the clock turned to three am.