carpe diem

12

It’s been two weeks since Regulus turned up at James’ apartment and fell apart trying to explain his own incapability at pursuing happiness.

It’s been two weeks since James cradled his face like it was the most precious thing in the world and told him that he was scared too.

It’s been two weeks since Regulus said okay.

Truth be told, despite the last two weeks not being filled with dates and high end restaurants, Regulus has enjoyed it. The domestic subdue of their time together would have usually made his spine curl and hair stand on end. Instead, there’s something gentle about the way James has let himself into Regulus’ flat while the younger male is working overtime at the hospital and having dinner ready on the coffee table by the time he gets home. James always seems excited to see Regulus - never does he not smiled widely the moment Regulus walks in his front door as if the best thing has ever happened to him.

It makes Regulus feel like he’s worth something to smile at.

It took a few times to get used to. Regulus wasn’t expecting someone to be in his flat, for the whole vicinity to smell of Chinese food takeaway and old runs of Bake Off to already be playing on the TV. It took him a minute to gather his scattered thoughts at the sight of James lounging on his sofa and Slyvester draped across his legs.

The first time it happened, Regulus wanted to kick James out. He wanted to tell him to go home, to give him space to defuse after 13 hours on a busy neurology ward and let him drown his sorrows in enough wine to take the edge of the day off without ruining his next shift at work. It felt weird to him when James told him to take a shower while he does the dishes, and to come out and find James had actually cleaned up everything after them. Regulus wasn’t able to relax until the wine had kicked in and he’d somehow gone from sitting next to James to half slumped across his lap.

Then James had given him a foot rub.

Regulus didn’t complain from then on.

The first time James stayed over was actually Regulus’ idea, to both of their surprise. They’d both fallen asleep in the middle of some Master Chef reruns and when they woke up, it was well past 2am. Regulus didn’t have work the next day, and was tired enough from his run of four shifts that he told James to just sleep over instead of having to wake himself up enough to drive home. It was nice sleeping next to James, and even nicer waking up practically moulded into one another with James’ arms curled around his back and face in Regulus’ hair.

It was even better, of course, when Regulus took James into his mouth under the covers and made him see stars, and in return, James decided realigning Regulus’ spine was the best way to start the morning.

If Regulus was limping slightly till lunch time, then it’s only him and James that need to know.

Regulus has never been a fan of Christmas. It’s no surprise, growing up in the Black household that Christmas was not a time of cheer and family, presents and food, but instead it was large, prestigious balls and parties with stiff suits and his parents parading them around from a young age making them talk to business men. Christmas was always a sophisticated event, and the actual day usually consisted of their aunts, uncles and crazy cousins coming over for a formal dinner and the entire thing ending in havoc. Regulus doesn’t think he had a Christmas with his parents that didn’t end in either him or Sirius going to bed with a black eye and their bedroom doors locked shut behind them.

When Regulus first came to London for his first year at university, he spent Christmas alone in the halls while everyone else went home. They weren’t impressed when they got back to find that Regulus had spent the entire festive holiday on his own shut up in the dorm room studying as if it was any other time of the year. The following Christmas, Regulus, Evan and Barty were all living in the house and they all invited Regulus to go back with them to their individual family homes. Regulus went with Pandora, mostly because she was the most local and he knew her parents well enough by then to not feel like he was entirely intruding on the holiday.

It took Regulus a long time to adjust to what Christmas is supposedly meant to be like. With Pandora and her family, there was no screaming, no fighting, no fine dining parties with champagne flutes and business men prowling the crowd like lions hunting their pray. There wasn’t any punches or slaps when he spoke when he wasn’t meant to or when his shoulders weren't straight and spine stiff. Instead, there was a overdecorated Christmas tree in the corner of the Fontanye small and cosy living room, there was Christmas music playing the entire day on an old stereo on the window sill. Dinner was late, and it wasn’t a serving of the finest meats and perfectly diced up vegetables, but instead Mrs Fontayne’s chicken and pork roasts - because none of them like turkey - with huge helpings of veggies, roast potatoes and gravy thicker than melted chocolate. Pandora’s mum let him help in the chicken, taught him how to make her special roast potatoes and all the seasonings she put on the chicken and pork. They pulled crackers and wore the silly little paper hats, and afterwards, when they were full of food and different gins and wines, they played card games that didn’t end in a table being overthrown and someone getting sliced with a knife.

Regulus spent the whole of that Christmas waiting for the shoe to drop. He was waiting for the familiar environment to come out, for them all to suddenly turn on one another and make it feel like the Christmas he was used to.

But they didn’t. The day was amazing, peaceful. Regulus cried a lot in the spare bed that night.

When Pandora’s mum died, Regulus was surprised the invite was still extended to spend the following Christmas with them. It was certainly a more solemn Christmas, and Regulus did his best to make it as easy and nice for the Fontanye family as possible. He cooked the dinner as best he could, having practiced almost every other day for weeks leading up to the day so he could get them a nice roast on the table. Pandora and her father cried a lot, but Regulus didn’t mind. They didn’t play cards in the evening that year, but instead Pandora dragged them all onto the sofa to watch films and eat chocolates shaped like Christmas trees.

When Regulus qualified as a doctor, he worked the whole of the first Christmas. He didn’t mind, mostly because Pandora and her father weren’t going to be around anyway as they were going to Wales to spend it there. They invited Regulus to go along, but he’d already agreed to work the shifts at the hospital. Euphemia said it was kind of him to pick up so many, as it meant all the parents who were usually working it were able to be at home with their children and family.

Even after three years of having Christmas at the Fontayne’s, Regulus still can’t work up the excitement for the festive holiday like everyone else. It still feels like any other day to him, and he finds it incredibly annoying when people start saying Merry Christmas to him in the weeks leading up to it.

The Christmas rota at the hospital is arranged in August, so Regulus knew in the months leading up to the festive holiday that he wouldn’t be spending it with the Fontayne’s regardless of it they're local this time or not. Thankfully, Pandora said she was flying out to see her dad, who’s working at a wildlife sanctuary in South Africa, this year so she isn’t going to be around and more importantly, won't be on her own. She asked Regulus to go with her, but he said he’d already offered his time to the hospital. She called him sweet for doing it for the parents that worked there, but in reality, Regulus just didn’t want to risk spending the holiday on his own after having a few years of knowing what the time of year is meant to be like.

James comes round on the 20th - the day before Regulus starts a rough eight day stretch of shifts to get him round to the start of the New Years weekend. Evan has already been home for a few days, managing to wangle a whole two weeks off for the holidays which is like being given the ultimate golden ticket when working in health care in London. Barty left for home in the morning, and Regulus has had a running commentary over text of everything that’s happened so far on his train journey to Bath. James turns up around lunchtime, out of the blue and surprising because Regulus was sure he’d said something about going out with 'Wormtail' to get some last minute presents.

It takes Regulus a moment to notice the bags and boxes standing beside James when he opens the front door.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, eyeing the boxes. Is James planning on moving in? "What are all the boxes?"

"I’ve been waiting patiently for days for you to finally whip out the Christmas tree and decorations for your flat," James starts. "But we are now only five days away from the big day and while I adore your little flat with all its blankets and books and little plants that you somehow manage to keep alive despite working most of your life at the hospital, I am now scared that you aren’t even planning on putting up any decorations."

"I don’t have any," Regulus shrugs. "I don’t see the point."

James’ eyes widen. "Don’t see the—? Please, Regulus, my love, my star, stop right there! Speak no more, otherwise you’re going to properly break my heart in two."

Regulus doesn’t bother refraining from rolling his eyes.

"You can not have an undecorated house at Christmas!" James cries as he starts moving the boxes and bags into the flat, shaking his head. "You simply can not! It is tradition, and it is lovely."

"So," Regulus exhales, closing the door and looking at the pile now sitting in the centre of his living room, "that’s what’s in the boxes?"

"I went down to the Christmas market this morning with Wormtail and got you everything you need!" James beams, motioning to the boxes. "I figured you wouldn’t be a real tree kind-of-guy, mostly because I don’t think you’ll be able to deal with all the needles falling off and making a mess on the floor so I got you a fake one. Plus, it means you can put it up again next year. I didn’t know what colour you’d like for decorations so I went with the traditional colours, mum says they’re sophisticated and for some reason when I think of you and Christmas decoration, I think of my grandparents house - which is also why I didn’t get you any tinsel. I can imagine you’d think it’s quite tacky."

"You clearly don’t know me at all. I actually love tinsel."

James’ face drops. "What?"

Regulus hums, idly peaking into one of the bags. "I actually enjoy wrapping myself up like a glorified Santa and walking around my flat on Christmas morning in my birthday suit with tinsel being the only thing covering my modesty."

"Are-are you joking?"

Regulus looks at him. "What do you think?"

"I’m kind of hoping you’re not."

"We’ll never know now," Regulus smirks. "As you didn’t bring tinsel."

James’ cheeks are tinted rosey and red, eyes wide and jaw slack. "I-I can go and get some now. I can—"

"Let’s leave it up to the imagination, yeah," Regulus interrupts. "Consider it an early Christmas present."

"You’re evil."

"Not my fault you have a dirty mind."

James grins, eyes sparkling. Regulus feels like he could melt beneath them.

"So," Regulus motions around. "Where do we start, Buddy the Elf?"

Regulus genuinely had no idea how to decorate a flat with Christmas decorations. He mostly follows James’ lead, or lets James go on a flow by himself and instead just supplies him with coffee or gins and tonics along the way. James puts Christmas music on his phone, blaring out the same songs that Regulus has been forced to listen to the last few years with the Fontayne’s and that have been playing on repeat in all supermarkets and radio stations for the past two weeks. James singings along too, and despite it being incredibly bad and sore on the ears, Regulus can’t help but smile behind James’ back when he tries to imitate their voices.

It takes a lot longer than expected, especially as they take a spontaneous break on the living room floor when James seemed to find it an immense turn on when Regulus had to crawl under the tree to plug the lights into the wall. Regulus blames the gin, but he certainly isn’t complaining when they find themselves undressed on the floor and hungrily exploring every inch of each other in the mess of decorations and boxes.

Thankfully, James didn’t go as mad as Regulus feared he had: he only bought a small tree, barely standing three foot and able to be stood on the trunk in the corner. The decorations are all either red, green or gold, and replaced the blankets and throws on the sofa for Christmas themed ones. He bought enough fairy lights and covered every possible surface that even a blind man would have been able to see them all if he walked in.

When it’s finished, it looks like Santa and his elves threw up in Regulus’ flat. The entire place looks like a Christmas grotto.

"Do you like it?" James grins.

No. Regulus thinks. I think it looks horrendous and this is all a waste of time because I’m only going to be here for minimal time over Christmas to simply sleep before going back to the hospital.

"Yes," Regulus smiles. "I guess it’s alright."

James’ grin widens, arms wrapping around Regulus’ shoulders and back, pulling him close so their flush together. Regulus’ head automatically tilts up, and like magnets their lips connect.

Regulus doesn’t understand how every kiss they share feels like the first one. Heat sings down his spine, and he becomes hungry for more like an addict getting their first hit. James is a solid, warm wall against him, arms holding him like he’s something gentle, something James doesn’t want to let go and lose.

Kissing James, having him enclose around his shoulders or hold him at the small of his back makes Regulus feel more alive than he has in years. It sparks a light in his stomach, like someone has set off a firework, a feeling Regulus has never felt before but is slowly feeling himself crave. He yearns for James’ warmth, his touch and the sound of his laugh like someone would yearn for oxygen when sinking in a pool of water.

When they pull apart, they’re both panting slightly. James rests his forehead against him, and Regulus only then notices that the older boys arms have fallen from round his shoulders and now resting at the small of his back, one hand practically cupping his ass.

"Should we order food, or do you want me to go?" James asks.

"I think you deserve to enjoy and observe your hard work with the decorations for a little bit longer," Regulus murmurs. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. "Order what you like, though."

James decides on burgers, so an hour later and a takeaway eaten, they find themselves laying on the sofa with the Christmas lights twinkling around them and James telling him all about his plans for the next few days.

"Me, mum, dad and Pads are flying up to Scotland tomorrow to see my grandparents. We used to see them over the whole of Christmas but mum struggles to get the whole time off now, and Pads won’t go that long without seeing Moony anymore since we got back from university, so we’ll be flying back here about midday Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve has always been Marauders night. We’ve done it ever since we were old enough to be away from our parents for an evening. It started out as just hanging round mine, playing card games and drinking as much fizzy as my parents would allow us. Of course, ever since we were able we’ve been going to the pub. I think we’re going to the Leaky this year. We’re meeting a couple of girls that Wormtail knows and has recently bumped into, which will be nice. Christmas Day will be at mum and dads, of course. Padfoot will be there, as he always is. He’s basically as much of family as if he’d actually been born by my mum. I love Christmas Day, it’s always been the best anyway but it seemed to get ten-times better after Pads came to live with us. I think my mum and dad started putting in extra effort for him, because he apparently never did Christmas at home. Then Boxing Day, all the Marauders and family meet up for lunch. It’s so fun, there’s so many of us too because of all of Wormtails siblings. Mum’s got a night shift boxing night though, so she won’t be drinking this year which will be interesting. Then on the 27th all us Marauders are taking Wormtails little siblings iceskating because his mum has to open the shop again so we’re going to entertain them for the day. Then in the evening, we’re going to see my dads side of the family in Surrey, but it’ll be just me and dad because mums working and Pads is probably going to be spending some alone time with Moony and his mum. I’ll be back on the 29th, right in time for us to go out for dinner!"

Regulus blinks.

"That sounds exhausting," he says eventually. "You do realise Christmas is one day?"

"Well, yeah," James laughs, "But there’s too many people to see and fun festive things to do to cram it all into one day. Plus, Christmas is basically a seven day holiday anyways. Everyone knows this; it starts on the 21st and finishes on the 28th. Then everyone has two days to recuperate in preparation for New Years. It’s perfect!"

When James asks what Regulus is doing, he simply answers that he’s working. James pulls a bit of a face, clearly thinking Regulus is just working on Christmas Day, but he quickly hugs him and says he’s an angel for going to work on such a festive day in the year.

Regulus decides to not expand on the fact that he’s working the next eight days. James doesn’t need to know, because he’ll only worry and then it might spoil all the things he has planned.

James leaves late that evening, needing to get back to get a decent night sleep before travelling up to Scotland tomorrow. Regulus has to spend an extra few minutes turning off all the Christmas lights when he goes to bed, and he has to practically drag Sylvester and his sharp claws off one of the blankets draped over the back of the sofa.

Barty (08:22) first morning in the Crouch household and my mum woke me up at 7 for no reason other than it’s apparently 'unacceptable for people above the age of 20 to sleep in past dawn'

Barty (08:22) remind me why I subject myself to this torture every year?

Regulus (08:38) because if you don’t you won’t get your fabulous presents christmas morning

Barty (08:40) oh yes. how can I not be excited for another ugly cashmere sweater that I’m going to give straight to you or the shaving kit that will go straight in the fucking bin as soon as I leave this hell hole

Regulus (08:41) careful, bartemius. you’re starting to sound ungrateful

Barty (08:43) I’d rather be emptying bed pans right now than dealing with this bullshit

Regulus (08:44) I’m sure your parents aren’t far off that age. maybe next christmas you’ll get shitty bedpans instead of m&s finest christmas crackers

Barty (08:45) I don’t appreciate your sarcasm so early in the morning

Regulus (08:46) I don’t appreciate your whining. message someone else or suck it up

Barty (08:46) YOURE SO MEAN OVER CHRISTMAS

Barty (08:46) what happened to the spirit of Christmas?

Regulus (08:49) it died with my soul back in 1999

Regulus pockets his phone, turning back to the paperwork he should have finished 10 minutes ago.

"Doctor Black?" Alex says, walking up to the desk. "I discharged 404 and 405, but the lady in room 408 says she’s still waiting for her blood results and she wants to go home too. She keeps going on about a train she’s got this afternoon and—"

"No worries, Alex," Regulus interrupts, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. "I’ll chase up the bloods now and go speak to her. Can’t have her missing her precious train, can we?"

"I have a strong feeling you don’t care about her train."

"You are correct," he murmurs. "I couldn’t give a flying fuck, but if she’s going to keep going on about it I’d rather she pissed off so I didn’t have to be the one she whines about it to."

Alex stifles a laugh. "At least she’s not flying. Though, I think you’d find some joy in telling her she wouldn’t be able to go."

"Be the final nail in the coffin for her Christmas, wouldn’t it?" Regulus smirks, closing the finished file. "Suffers a mini-stroke three days before Christmas and can’t get on a plane for 10."

"You’re cruel, Mr Scrooge."

Regulus flips her off as he grabs the phone on the desk. 20 minutes later, the bloods have been found, read and the lady in 408 is being handed her discharge papers. He barely has time after book an MRI scan and take a swig of his cooling coffee before the phone rings again.

"Neurology ward, Dr Black speaking," he answers.

"Hi! It’s Angie, RN down in emergency. We’ve got a non-epileptic down here who’s had a total of two tonic-clonic seizures today. One at home and one with us when they first arrived. We’ve got them stabilised but was wondering if we could get them up onto the neuro ward to make some more space down here."

"Have you done any tests already?"

"Just bloods. We’re quite swamped down here, so there hasn’t been time to organise anything else—"

"No worries. Send them up. We’ve got some beds," Regulus rubs his forehead. He’s only three hours into his shift and he can already feel a headache building. "If you wouldn’t mind sending up any paperwork you have ASAP. I’ll give it a read before we book anything."

"Thank you. You’re a life saver!"

"That’s unfortunately part of the job description," Regulus heaves a breath, putting the phone down and chugging the last of his coffee.

Regulus takes the file from the HCA that brings the seizure patient up and listens to their stuttering and horrifically shit handover before shooing them away and asking Alex to do another set of observations. After reading the paperwork and running a few scans, he admits to the slightly unimpressed patient that they’ll be staying for the rest of the day for observations to check for changes.

"Do I really have to stay all day?"

"If your numbers are still inadequate or you have another seizure, you’ll be staying all night as well," Regulus explains.

"But. . . it’s Christmas in a few days time," they argue. "I need to buy presents for people, and—"

"Yes, well, if all goes well you’ll be able to do your Christmas shopping tomorrow," Regulus huffs. He wants to ask what is it with people leaving Christmas present shopping until the last few days before Christmas. "You can, of course, DACA yourself, which incase you’re unaware, means to discharge against clinical advice, but I’ll require you to sign a large amount of forms to ensure if you drop dead outside the hospital it won’t backlash on me."

The patient stares at him in shock.

"I’ll be back in a few hours to carry out another round of assessments," Regulus says as he swiftly strips off his gloves. "If you need anything before that, ring the buzzer next to the bed."

Leaving the cubicle, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

James (12:02) we’ve landed safely in Scotland! Forgot how much colder it is up here in December, already regretting not bringing my thickest gloves :( hope the shift is going well! <3

Regulus (12:03) i am one more cheery christmas patient away from getting struck off for misconduct. glad you landed safely and I’m sure you won’t need gloves in your grandparents house

He spots Dorcas and Mary by the reception desk, and suspiciously three cups of coffee beside them. Deciding whether one is for him or not, he's going to have one to help him combat the rest of the idiots on the ward.

"Reggie Black!" Dorcas cheers when he drops down in the chair.

"Don't call me that."

"Be nice to me or you're not having this double shot americano I so kindly picked up for you."

Regulus sighs, looking up at her and batting his eyelids.

"So beautiful," she croons, punching his cheek. She hands over the cup. "Enjoy, Scrooge."

"I saw the rota, Black," Mary adds. "You poor bastard."

"Don't give him sympathy," Dorcas argues. "The twat volunteered for those shifts. It's the French in him. He thrives to ruin people's days and what better time to do it than the Christmas holidays?"

"Fuck off," Regulus grumbles.

"No plans for Christmas then?" Mary asks. "I'm guessing Evan and Barty have been dragged home by their ears and are hopefully having a horrible time. Where's Panda?"

"Africa," Regulus answers.

Mary blinks in surprise. "Not the typical holiday destination for this time of year, but when does Pandora do anything remotely typical."

Dorcas chuckles. "Nothing like sharing your Christmas dinner with meerkats and lions."

"Sounds a lot more riveting than eating it here," Mary grumbles. "You and me Christmas Day, Reg. Though I will warn you, I'm likely to be hungover."

"Always reassuring considering you're likely to be the only anaesthesiologist that day. Can't wait to see you try to cannulate with shaky hands."

"At least I'll be happy, you miserable, soul-sucking urchin."

"I'll remind you of that when you're vomiting in the mess room toilets between patients," Regulus smiles.

"Dorcas, I hate him."

"He probably hates you too, Mars."

Regulus nods. "Correct."

"I don't know why I put up with you," Mary grumbles, but then before Regulus can even give her a reasonable list why, she's giving him a loud and sloppy kiss on his hair and starts rubbing his shoulders. "Fucking hell, Black. Your shoulders are more tense than my mums when she's trying to cook Christmas lunch!"

The phone rings, and Dorcas snatches it up faster than Regulus can blink. He sips his coffee and tries to focus enough on the computer so he doesn't literally melt underneath Mary's surprisingly pleasant kneeling against the back of his shoulders.

Dorcas puts the phone down and meets Regulus' eyes with a familiar look.

"We've got nerve pain coming up," she explains. "Apparently they've been down in emergency all morning but the neuro consultant down there can't figure out what's wrong."

"Who have they got down there?"

"Agency. So fuck knows what's actually wrong with them. Apparently he's 55 years, was at work this morning when he suddenly collapsed and woke up with a headache."

"Let me guess. When I ask, he's going to say it feels like a thunderclap at the back of his head?" Regulus sighs.

"Don't be all doom and gloom!" Mary laughs. "If we're looking at a nice little IC bleed then you might get in on the surgery. Plus, I'll be at the head end making sure the fucker stays asleep. A Christmas miracle!"

"I'll be sure to tell the guy that while we're wheeling him into surgery," Dorcas grins.

"What guy wouldn’t be thrilled to be going on the surgery table and enabling two best friends to finally share some quality time together?" Mary smirks, ruffling Regulus’ hair as she wanders off.

"When is our new patient coming up?"

"Any minute now," Dorcas replies. "Want me to take this one?"

"Do you mind starting it and then if needed, booking him in for an MRI? I can take it from there."

"Ay, captain."

After Dorcas has wandered off, Regulus quickly finishes the paperwork he’s was meant to write for the non-epileptic that is not impressed about staying.

Barty (08:51) please explain to my why my mother thinks it is essential for me to wear a suit and tie every day leading up to christmas despite all us doing is going to a fucking m&s to get 'fresher vegetables' ????

Barty (10:38) it’s official. they’ve managed to already ruin christmas despite it still being 3 days away

Barty (12:35) the cousins are here. forgot how much I loath my family. wish I could disown myself and move to a different county

Regulus has to read the text twice to make sure he read it correctly that Barty didn’t add a little like you did.

Regulus (12:38) i’m going to take a lot of judgement as to what country it will be you choose to runaway too

He swipes onto James’ onslaught of texts, struggling to hide his smile.

James (12:35) I forgot how amazing my grandmas cinnamon cookies are

James (12:35) honestly just ate about 10 and I’m not even sure if I chewed them

James (12:35) purely just inhaled them like a Henry hoover

James (12:36) I’m going to bring some back for you because honestly, they’re the best thing since sex

Regulus (12:40) it’s going to ruin my christmas if you say these biscuits are better than sex with me

He’s also got texts from Evan and Pandora.

Pandora (11:31) pre warning now, my favourite french ray of sunshine, I think this holiday might end with me permanently moving out here. there is something much more euphoric about waking up to the sight of warthog’s in the front garden than the usual rats eating out of a knocked over bin

Evan (10:59) just found out from my dad that we both bought mum the same scarf and hat set… apparently I’m the one who has to now run out and grab her something else. want a free hat and scarf set? I’m sure you can pull off grey and lilac check ;)

He replies to Pandora saying if she doesn’t come back he’s chasing her out there, and said to Evan to get his mum a Molton Brown wash set and to give the scarf and hat to Lily for her birthday next month.

The patient they brought up, after Dorcas’ assessment, is sent into the MRI scan and is confirmed to have a subarachnoid haemorrhage. Regulus isn’t surprised when Slughorn asks him to assist, and much to Mary’s dismay, it isn’t the party in the operating room she’d dreamed of.

They do sneak outside for a cigarette afterwards though as a reward for not killing the guy.

The next few days pass in the same shit and unorganised fashion. Before Regulus knows it, he’s done three of his eight shifts and is waking up Christmas morning before the sun has risen to go in again. Having spent the whole of Christmas Eve shift down in A&E dealing with drunks, broken bones and split foreheads, he’s relieved to find when he gets back in at just gone 6am that he’s gifted to stay in his own ward for the merry, joyous day.

Regulus isn’t surprised to turn up and be told that he’s the only doctor on shift for the day. In reality, he finds it incredibly typical that all the agency staff they had booked decided that they didn’t want to spend the day looking after sick neurology patients and risk getting dragged down to emergency to deal with the burns from cooking lunch or the numerous stitches for the drunken people having too much gin, and instead wanted to spend the days with their families like they should have originally said they would.

Regulus isn’t surprised at all.

The beginning of the shift passes in the same blur that the last few days have. Fleeting hours of MRI scans, neurological exams and given the over-practised speech about the recovery of TIA’s and the difference between those and strokes.

Just after he’s managed to snag a coffee from the cafe that unfairly is only open half the hours it normally is because it’s Christmas Day, his pager goes off down in emergency. Resisting the urge to launch his coffee at the wall (or more appealingly, himself), he sets it down behind the reception desk and makes the familiar and annoying route down to the A&E ward.

"Someone paged for neuro?" He says.

"That was me!" A bloke in red replies. "Are you Doctor Black?"

"Unfortunately. You wanted me specifically?"

That’s never a good sign, Regulus mentally reminds himself.

"Yes. You speak French, right?"

Frowning, and becoming more confused than annoyed, he nods, "Yes. Why?"

"We’ve got a French patient who doesn’t seem to speak a word of English. All we can get out of him is him motioning to his abdomen."

"Do the NHS suddenly not employ translators for any specific reason?"

"They do, but not on Christmas Day," the other doctor shrugs.

Regulus sighs. "Of course. What bay?"

"Two. Thank you so much!"

Regulus walks away before the doctor has even finished thanking him, marching as fast as he can to bay 2 so he can get this translating done as soon as possible and get out of emergency before they can try and keep him down here.

He at least has the excuse of being the only doctor up in neuro today, but that won’t stop them from asking him for a few favours that never stays a few favours.

Whipping back the curtain, Regulus musters the best believable smile he can when feeling like he hasn’t slept or sat down in a week.

"Bonjour monsieur (Hello, sir)," he greets the gaunt, practically skeletal, gentleman sitting on the bed.

The man smiles. "Bonjour. Etes-vous un docteur? (Hello. Are you a doctor?)"

"Oui. Quel semble être le problème aujourd’hui? (Yes. What seems to be the problem today?)"

"J'ai un cancer de l'estomac. Mon médecin m'a dit de venir si j'avais des ecchymoses. Mon petit-fils m'a sauté dessus ce matin et maintenant j'ai un bleu au ventre. (I have stomach cancer. My doctor said to come in if I get bruising. My grandson jumped on me this morning and now my stomach is bruised)."

Regulus nods. Of course, what’s Christmas Day at hospital if you don’t bump into some unlucky fucker who’s battling cancer. "Je vois. Vous avez un port? Dans ta poitrine? (I see. You have a port? In your chest?)"

The man nods, pulling down his shirt to show the catheter port beneath the skin.

"Je ferai savoir aux médecins d'appeler votre oncologue. Avez-vous mal? (I will let the doctors know to call your oncologist. Are you in any pain?)," Regulus asks.

The man shakes his head. "Non (No)."

"Bien. Vous êtes entre de bonnes mains aujourd'hui, monsieur (Good. You're in good hands today, sir)."

"Merci docteur. Joyeux noël! (Thank you, doctor. Merry Christmas!)."

Regulus refrains from rolling his eyes. The man is smiling so wide it’s practically splitting his face in half. Despite the lack of hair and healthy glow and instead gaunt cheeks, he still manages to look like a grinning child.

"Je t'en prie. Joyeux noël (You're welcome. Merry Christmas)."

Heading back to the nurses station, he flags down the doctor who originally spoke to him.

"He’s got stomach cancer. Grandson kicked him in the stomach this morning and now he has excessive bruising. Might be easier to just call the oncologist and move him up there," he half turns to leave, and then remembers: "Oh, and maybe ask their ward manager to call in for an emergency language translator. I’m the only doctor in neuro today and I can’t spend the whole shift being a parrot."

In the elevator, Regulus sighs, head dropping back against the mirror. His phone has been going off relentlessly in his pocket. He’d text everyone before his shift started, just so no one could complain to him later that he didn’t send them Merry Christmas wishes on the day. Regulus doesn’t have a chance to even check his phone, because the elevator dings the neuro floor already and he’s being forced to step out.

He’s four sips into his luke warm coffee when one of the nurses come wandering up to the reception desk.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor Black—"

"The 'Merry Christmas' you wished me first thing this morning was enough," he interrupts. "And I’m guessing I’m correct in assuming that you haven’t come over here to wish me another Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, but to instead ask me to see a patient?"

"Yes. We have a new patient in room 402."

"I wish I could be wrong sometimes," Regulus mutters. Heaving a sigh, he stands up, "Fine. I’ll see to him now. What do we already know?"

"His name is Adam O’Connell. He’s 31, and has had a few appointments with his GP about various symptoms including numbness and tingling, loss of balance, spasms, pain everywhere, bladder and bowel problems and visual disturbances," the nurse explains from the file as she follows him across the ward. "His GP referred him to come here to have a more thorough examination."

"Lovely. Can you book me an MRI scan and I’ll get some bloods after I’ve examined him."

The nurse nods, trailing behind him and watching him snatch some gloves out of the box on the wall. "What are you thinking?"

"I’m thinking he’s having a shit Christmas if the GP arranged for him to have his appointment today of all days," Regulus replies, taking the file and stepping into the cubicle.

Regulus spends 45 minutes with Adam. He sends the bloods down with the nurse, asking her to personally put in a word about their urgency. The MRI scan shows exactly the scan Regulus was hoping he wasn’t going to see, and with dread already pooling in his stomach he has to explain to the patient that they’re going to perform a procedure called a spinal tap to confirm the rest of the findings.

When fluid is found in the antibodies extracted from the spinal tap, Regulus braces himself for the unfortunate conversation he’s going to have.

"Mr O’Connell," he greets. "We have all the results back from the tests today. Thank you for your patience, I appreciate it’s all been a lot and we’ve asked much of your cooperation today."

"It’s not a bother," the man smiles. "I just want to get to the bottom of whatever this is. It wasn’t all too reassuring being referred to neurologists in a hospital."

"I can imagine," Regulus muses feigning amusement. "So, I’m afraid I’m going to have to be blunt with you, in that your results have not given us good news."

The mans smile drops from his face as if Regulus has physically slapped it off.

"What is it?"

"You have something known as Multiple Sclerosis," Regulus says. "Do you know what that is?"

Adam shakes his head.

"It’s a neurological condition where your immune system attacks your nerves by mistake. In short and simple terms, your own body is damaging the nerves in your spine and brain, essentially slowly destroying them to the point that your body cannot sufficiently perform anymore due the scars it leaves behind on your spine and brain," Regulus explains. When the man doesn’t say anything, Regulus takes a moment to let it sink in before he adds, "The tests today unfortunately showed that your MS is specifically aggressive, and due to the severity of your symptoms it’s already considerably advanced. The physical tests I did with you today have unfortunately shown that despite your young age, your symptoms are advanced enough and already having done enough damage to your body that even with treatment, you have very little chances of relapses or treatment providing long-lasting effect."

"Am. . . am I going to die?" The man asks, tears steadily streaming down his face. "Please, I have a little girl. She— she’s only one. I can’t— I c-can’t die."

Regulus ignores the tightness in his chest.

"We will do more tests, and we’ll unfortunately be keeping you here for observations to deem the best possible treatment to give you as much time as possible before the disease—"

"What are the treatments?" The man interrupts. "Please, I’ll do anything. I need— oh shit, I need to see my little girl grow up!"

Regulus sits down in the chair beside the bed. He doesn’t know how long he spends talking to Adam, going through the upcoming tests, the stages of worsening symptoms, the treatments available and their processes and success rates.

When Regulus leaves, Adam is phoning his wife, the mans eyes red and swollen and voice choked.

There’s a stone sitting heavy in Regulus’ stomach that’s never been there before. As he’s walking back to the reception desk, he feels like he’s got a rope tied around his stomach and he’s trying to pull a car with no wheels.

The nurse is by the desk, writing observations in charts. She looks up when Regulus drops in the desk chair.

"Gutting isn’t it," she says, nodding to Adam’s cubicle. "On Christmas Day too. I hope his family can come in and see him."

"Yeah," Regulus swallows around a dry lump in his throat. "I’m going to take a quick five, if you don’t mind. I’ll have my pager on me, so just buzz if anything happens."

"Of course."

Regulus walks on shaky legs to the mess room. Finding it empty, he locks the door behind him and barely makes it to the lockers before he feels himself go boneless. Sliding down, the grooves of the metal doors and padlocks scraping harshly against his spine. He pulls his knees up to his chest and scrambles for his phone.

James picks up after the fifth ring.

"Hey!" James answers, voice cheery and so happy. "Merry Christmas, baby!"

Regulus hums flatly. "Merry Christmas, James."

"Oh no," James replies. "That doesn’t sound like a bummed out 'Merry Christmas and I’m grumpy because I’m at work instead of at home with a glass of wine and stomach full of roast turkey'."

"That’s because it’s not," Regulus sighs. "I actually couldn’t give a fuck if I was at home right now with a glass of wine and some stupid turkey."

"What’s happened?"

"Oh, you know. The usual, average Christmas Day on neuro ward," Regulus shrugs, head thunking back against the lockers. "Strokes. Brain haemorrhages from people falling ass over tit after they’ve had too much sherry. Epileptics that forgot they had to take their medication because their disease doesn’t stop over the holidays. Oh! And I just got to diagnose a lovely 31 year old with aggressive MS and tell him that he probably only has about six months before he’s wheelchair bound and shitting in a nappy. Merry fucking Christmas to all, because I definitely ruined that guys bloody day."

"Oh, Reg," James whispers. "I. . . I don’t—"

"You don’t need to say anything," Regulus snaps, voice coming out more shaky that sharp. "Please, just— fucking hell. Tell me something funny. Please, someone in that house must have done something stupid over the last few days that is going to make me laugh enough to cry so I can pretend the tears burning my eyes right now are from that and not from the look on the guys face when I said he probably wouldn’t be here for his daughters 5th birthday."

James is silent on the other end of the phone, and all it does it bring tears to Regulus’ eyes. He swipes them roughly. He won’t cry over this. He’s hasn’t cried at work since Pandora told him over the phone that they were stopping her mums chemo treatment because the cancer wasn’t responding to even the most aggressive medicines.

"I don’t know why this has got me so messed up," Regulus chokes. "I’ve literally had teenagers flatline on me and not be able to get them back, tell children their parents have had such an irreversible brain bleed that their parent is going to be wheelchair bound and about as useful as a broken broom. I’ve seen so many people die and it hasn’t bothered me, but this guy— fuck. . ."

James makes a broken sound over the phone. "It’s because it’s Christmas Day."

"No it’s not," Regulus grumbles.

"It is," James insists. "No matter how much you pretend you don’t feel it, it’s the magic of Christmas making this more heartbreaking."

"James—"

"Tell me you haven’t thought at least once today about how what you have to do is going to be harder because you’ll be letting people down on Christmas Day."

Regulus closes his eyes. He won’t admit James is right.

"I’m taking your silence as confirmation."

"I’m struggling because I’m tired."

"I’m sure you are," James says softly. "I wish I was there. I’d come in with a coffee and give you a huge hug."

Regulus thinks a hug sounds really nice right now, but the nurses on shift don’t seem like the decent-hug types.

"I’m sorry you’re having a shit Christmas," James says. "Do you want to talk to mum? At least she’ll understand all the neuro stuff you’re stressed about."

"Never offer me to talk to your mum again," Regulus whines. "That’s so weird and only reminds me that I’m dating my bosses son."

James laughs, loud and bold and so so lovely. "Sorry! Won’t happen again, I promise."

"She shouldn’t have to put up with it anyways. She’s on holiday, enjoying the stupid Christmas cheer and all that bollocks, not putting up with my little crisis at work."

"You know she’d love to talk to you, especially if you needed it," James muses. "The only time she’s talked about you to me has been when she talks about you being able to run the whole ward on your own like a champ."

"Are you going to call me pathetic if I admit I don’t feel like a champ today?"

"No, love," James whispers.

Regulus clenches his eyes closed. Fuck, he feels pathetic even if James won’t tell him he is. He rests his head forward, cradled in one hand while the other holds the phone against his ear.

"Are you alright?" James asks gently.

Regulus barely contains the urge to shout out and ask for James to come to the hospital and give him the hug he teased about. Though Regulus isn’t sure he’d be strong enough to not then leave with him.

"Tell me about your day," Regulus says. "What did you get for Christmas?"

"Pads got me these wicked new lights to go on my car that I’ve been wanting for ages but haven’t been able to justify the price. My grandparents got me this super fancy shower stuff, like apparently it costs a ridiculous amount and should last me all year. So I’m going to be smelling like black pepper for the next 10 months. Oh! And my mum and dad got me this really soft black and grey sweater!"

Regulus hums, smiling despite himself. "Sounds lovely."

"No."

"What?"

"You can’t have it."

"Have what?"

"The sweater, Regulus."

The laugh that punches itself out of Regulus’ chest is a surprise but a relief. "I never said I was having it?"

"You’re a jumper thief, Reg."

"I am not!"

James chuckles, "I’m pretty sure my green, black and blue striped sweatshirt isn’t in my own wardrobe anymore but in yours?"

Oh, that sweater.

"It matches my scarf."

"Your black scarf?" James teases.

"Yes, and my favourite green scarf," Regulus argues. "Plus, you look ridiculous in it. Your shoulders are too wide for it and it stretches the fabric."

"It’s literally my size," James laughs. "You look like you’re drowning in it!"

"You can’t admit it doesn’t suit me."

"Wouldn’t care if it didn’t," James sounds fond, and Regulus can picture his sweet little smile. "I think it’s cute when you wear my clothes."

"Well, your jumpers aren’t safe but your shoes certainly are."

"What’s wrong with me shoes?"

"What isn’t wrong with bright red converse?" Regulus scoffs. "You look like a clown whenever you wear them."

James gasps. "They’re lovely and vibrant!"

"Of course they are, darling."

"You’re so mean," James cries. A moment of silence passes between them. It’s nice, Regulus decides. Phoning James was the right decision. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Much," Regulus murmurs. "Thank you."

After Christmas Day, Regulus’ three night shifts pass in a blur. It’s nice to have Euphemia and Dorcas back on the ward. The pressure isn’t taken off despite the more doctors being in, and Regulus gets dragged into more surgeries with Slughorn at least to make the days more exciting.

James seems to catch on during Regulus’ last night shift that he’s been at work almost every time they’ve texted and phoned, but Regulus blows it off by saying he’s been called in.

The morning of the 29th, Regulus gets off three hours late due to the day doctors being instantly dragged down to emergency for a trauma call coming in which lands Regulus in the unfortunate hands of keeping the neuro ward afloat for a few hours.

When he finally makes it home, he feels so dead on his feet he doesn’t even make it to the bedroom. Instead, he collapses on the sofa and wraps himself in one of the ugly Christmas throws that James brought over and is enwrapped by the sandman within minutes.

Somehow, by a miracle of sorts, he doesn’t sleep the entire day and night away and mangoes to rouse himself still with four hours before his meal with James.

He phones Pandora while he’s getting ready, even leaving her on speaker while he showers because she has so much to catch him up on about the animals and the African way of Christmas that he only manages to change the subject when he’s getting ready and needs her to confirm his outfit choice for the evening.

James offers to pick him up, but when he then admits that he’s only just got home and has been driving all day back from Surrey, Regulus declines and says he’ll pick him up instead. When James asks if he’s safe to be driving, Regulus has to spend over five minutes assuring the older guy that he slept for easily five hours today and yes, that’s enough.

Regulus parks outside James’ building, dropping him a text to let him know he’s here.

When James comes bounding out a few minutes later, his cheeks are flushed and he’s walking to the car with a bounce in his step that makes Regulus’ chest clench.

"You might want to drive away," James says as he buckles in. "Pads has been oggling out the window at your car for the last five minutes trying to see you and has threatened to come down. He likes your car though!"

"Fantastic," Regulus grumbles, putting the car in drive and pulling from the curb straight away. "If this Pads is anything like you then he’s bound to be incredibly insufferable and I don’t want to meet him."

"Hey!" James cries. "You love me! I’m not insufferable."

"You were at the beginning," Regulus teases. "I suppose I’ve got used to you now."

"I missed you this week," James says. "I can’t believe you worked the whole of Christmas. You’re like a walking Christmas miracle in that place."

"Some would say it would fall apart without me," Regulus muses. "Where are we going again?"

"You like Indian right?"

"I do. Would it have ruined your plans if I said no?"

"It would have ruined plan A," James winks. "You know the Masala Zone place by Piccadilly Circus?"

Regulus nods.

It’s only when they get out of the car that Regulus gets to have a proper look at James, and he drinks the sight of him like he’s been deprived of it for months. Curls as wild and untameable as always, his shoulders are hidden beneath a white buttoned up shirt and a blue denim jacket thrown over the top. His legs are clad in black jeans and tucked into the lips of a pair of black boots.

"You aren’t wearing your red converse," Regulus blurts, aware he’s staring like an idiot at James’ feet.

James looks down and laughs, shaking his head as he grabs Regulus’ hand to bring them both flush together.

"Sorry, I thought you said they make me look like a clown?"

"Well, yes, but— I didn’t—"

James cuts him off with a kiss. Sweet, slow, gentle and tender.

"Pads told me to wear these. He said they went better with the jeans and jacket," James whispers against his lips.

"They do look lovely," Regulus murmurs.

"Only lovely?" James grins, biting gently at his bottom lip. "I was aiming for sexy."

"Maybe save the sexy for after we’ve eaten," Regulus rasps. "Kiss me again."

"Yes, doctor."

When they get to the restaurant, they’re both flushed and slightly out of breath, and there’s a shine of sweat on both of the backs of their necks.

The first half of dinner is spent with James telling Regulus again, but this time in person with more detail, the events of his Christmas. Regulus listens, and mostly watches the pure joy and excitement on James’ face as he talks about the things he did with his family, about the drunken games that were played and his mothers amazing cooking. James’ body seems to come alive when he talks about his friends on Christmas Eve and about how they got so shit-faced he had to half carry home Pads and make sure he drank his weight in water back home to make sure he wasn’t hanging out of his ass the next day.

"Did any of your plans get ruined by work?" James asks after he’s swallowed a mouthful of rice and sauce.

"Oh, no," Regulus shakes his head, stalling by delicately cutting up his chicken. "I didn’t have any plans anyways."

James freezes. "No plans?"

"Of course not," Regulus shrugs. "No one was here, and I already knew I was working the whole of it."

"I thought you got called in the last few nights?"

Regulus sighs, finally meeting brown eyes across the table. "That may have been a twist on the truth."

"Reg. . ." James starts, but Regulus doesn’t want to hear the pity of it. It’s not like this is anything new to him.

"It’s fine," Regulus shrugs. "What better way to avoid spending the whole of Christmas on your own than spending it slaving away in an underfunded and understaffed hospital wing."

James looks at him with an expression Regulus can’t decipher.

"It’s fine, honestly. Evan and Barty are home with their families and Pandora is in Africa with her dad. It happens, it’s the holidays and people spend it with their parents."

"But not you."

"No," Regulus murmurs. "Well, it’s hard to spend Christmas with family when you don’t have any."

That clearly wasn’t the right thing to say, as James’ face falls like he’s been diagnosed with a terminal illness and less than 24 hours to live.

"I had a few nice Christmas’ with Pandora’s family since I met her," he explains, trying to see if it will make James look less like a kicked puppy to hear he’s got at least some nice Christmas experiences. "I’ve only spent one Christmas on my own and that was in first year of university. Safe to say the guys weren’t impressed when they came back so Pandora dragged me to hers the following years after."

"Why did you spend Christmas alone?"

"Christmas wasn’t all fairy lights and fun in my house like it was for everyone else," Regulus sighs. "Christmas was hardly anything to look forward to growing up. Didn’t see the need to start loving it now."

James doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He’s staring at Regulus with the intensity as if he’s trying to figure out if he’s being lied to.

Slowly, James reaches across the table and takes Regulus’ hand in his own. The warmth seems to spread up Regulus’ arm, and he almost shivers in surprise.

"Next year, you spend Christmas with me," James decides. "I’ll teach you the reasons to start loving Christmas."

Regulus smiles, genuine and grateful. "Okay."

Later, when they’ve finished dinner, James invites Regulus back to his flat, claiming he’s finally got some free space as Pads has gone over to Moony’s. Regulus follows him up like a puppy, holding his hand so tight like he’s afraid to let go.

James barely lets him take five steps inside before he’s kissing him again. This time its hungry, desperate, and pretty messy but Regulus is fine with that. He shares the same desperation as James, the same need and crave to feel him again.

They barely make it to the bedroom before clothes are dropping on the floor like his Christmas tree shedding it’s needles. Regulus drinks up the sight of his broad shoulders, the smooth feeling of James’ skin beneath his exploring hands.

For a long moment, Regulus isn’t sure what’s woken him up. He’s warm, face smushed against something solid and rhythmically moving up and down against him. His eyes feel so heavy he’s convinced someone has tied weights to his eyelashes in his sleep.

A shrilling sound fills the room. Disoriented and angry at whatever it is, he grumbles and pushes his face further into the soft warmth, curling like a cat.

Something laughs above him. A hand suddenly cards through his hair, twirling the small curls at the line of his neck.

"What the fuck is that sound?" Regulus grumbles, becoming aware enough that the warmth he’s squashed his face into is likely the space between James’ neck and shoulder.

"Your phone," James replies.

Regulus groans, high pitched and whiny. "I didn’t set any alarms."

"I’d move and have a look, but you’re kind of pining me down," James murmurs.

"Fucking, fuck fuckwit, fuck!" Regulus curses, rolling off James and mourning the way the arms around his shoulders fall as he moves to sit up. He snatches the phone off the side, glaring at the lit up screen.

"What do you want?" Regulus answers. "It’s eight in the morning."

"Good morning, my angel!" Barty cheers. "I’m so sorry to ruin your beauty sleep, but guess who’s trains have been cancelled until tomorrow morning."

"Are you seriously asking me for a lift right now?"

"It’s either I beg and grovel you or I put up with my dad in the car for three hours and after putting up with that prick for the last eight days, I think another three hours will end with me either in a psychiatric unit or a jail cell for murder."

Regulus groans, rubbing his eyes.

"I’m so sorry, mate," Barty sighs. "I’d ask Evan but he’s still at home apparently."

"Of course he is," Regulus mutters angrily. "You fucking owe me for this."

"I’ll buy all your drinks on New Years," Barty offers. "Please, Reg, I will give you anything—"

"Yes, yes, shut up," Regulus snaps. "It’s too early for grovelling. I’ll see you in a few hours."

"I love you!" Barty cheers.

"And I hate you," Regulus mutters, hanging up before Barty can say anymore.

Throwing the phone on the table, Regulus collapses backwards, head landing on James’ stomach. He closes his eyes, but can feel James looking at him. A hand skims a stroke across his cheek.

"Everything okay?" James asks.

"Trains are useless and Barty needs picking up from Bath," Regulus grumbles.

"Good thing you drove over here last night then," James muses. "When are you going?"

"Could you hit me with my car first?" Regulus whines, rolling over and pressing his face into James’ stomach. "Break my legs so I can’t and can instead spend a few days in a hospital bed attached to a morphine drip?"

"Cute idea, but not really on my list of to-do’s today I’m afraid," James laughs. "Plus, I don’t want to have a Reg-shaped dent in my car and yours is too nice to ruin too."

"Fuck off with your logic," Regulus snaps.

"Come on. I’ll make you breakfast before you go and you can use Pads’ flask to take coffee in."

Regulus looks up at James and puts on his best puppy dog eyes.

"Can I borrow a jumper?"

James laughs, shaking his head. "Why didn't I see that one coming?"

Forty minutes later, Regulus is wearing James' second favourite blue sweater and on the road, no more happy about it than when he got the call.

Traffic, unsurprisingly, is horrific and takes him closer to four hours to get to Bath.

Barty is waiting outside for him when he arrives. Practically opening the back doors to chuck his bags in before the car has even stopped.

When he climbs in, he’s telling Regulus to drive before he’s even closed the door behind him.

"Drive, Reg. Drive now, before they come out and try and talk to you!"

Regulus finds it ironic that that’s the second time something like that has been said to him in the last 24 hours.

"Fuck me sideways, Reggie," Barty gasps as they’re pulling away. "You look awful!"

"Merry belated Christmas to you too, Bartemius," Regulus grumbles,

"No, seriously, you’ve taken the whole 'i’ve not slept in a hundred years' look to a whole new level," Barty says. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night, like everyone else."

"I’ll rephrase, when was the last time you had eight hours of sleep and a day off work?"

Regulus pretends to think about it. "About four years ago before I shipped myself to university."

"Regulus."

"Barty."

He can feel Barty’s eyes on him, but he keeps his eyes on the road. He’s more than  aware that he looks like shit. Eight days at hospital and four hours of driving would do that to a normal person.

"Did you really work all of Christmas?"

"Yes," Regulus sighs. "You know that, we were texting each other the entire time."

"But you have New Years off, right?"

"Yes, you also know this," Regulus reminds. "I go back on the 2nd."

"You’ve given yourself four days off?"

"Is that not a substantial amount of time to celebrate the New Year? It’s one night?"

Barty huffs in agreement.

They get through two tracks on the radio before Barty is breaking the blessed silence again.

"So, how’s James?"

"Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you’re teasing me."

"That’s because I am, my little star struck bouton nez chérie (button nosed sweetheart)."

"Don’t speak French to me," Regulus chides. "And James is fine. He’s has a lovely Christmas galavanting around the country seeing family and opening presents."

Even Regulus can spot the fake cheer in his tone.

"Did you miss him?" Barty croons.

"Certainly more than I missed you," Regulus mutters, but clearly it was loud enough for Barty to hear judged by the exaggerated and pained gasp from the passenger seat.

The next day, it’s New Years Eve and the university band are all back together. Pandora has somehow managed to spend over a week in South Africa and come back as pale and crystal as she went, much to Evan and Barty’s amusement.

Pandora brought them all back presents: matching crocodile tooth necklaces and wooden handcrafted ash trays that Barty claims is an excuse for them all to start properly smoking.

The night of New Years, everyone is planning on piling round Regulus’ flat for pres like normal to then go to the Leaky and meeting everyone else there. The only thing separating it amongst all the other night outs they have is that Pandora picked up a bottle of Absinthe from the airport and Barty claims it needs to be completely drank before they leave.

Regulus has only just got out of the shower when James phones. It’s a FaceTime call, much to Regulus’ chagrin so he has to prop his phone against the side while he’s in the bathroom drying his hair.

"By the way," James says suddenly. Regulus has a feeling he’d tuned out of whatever James was saying before. "I’ve had a change of plans tonight."

"Oh, yeah," Regulus mutters, focused more on getting his curls to fall the right way. "What’s happened?"

"Nothing bad. Peter just said about going to the Leaky tonight."

Regulus startles so hard he drops his comb.

"What?"

"The Leaky," James repeats. "Apparently Mary is going so—"

Regulus snatches the phone off the side, staring down at James’ slightly startled expression. "You’re going to the Leaky? Tonight? As in the Leaky Couldron? Tonight?"

"Yes," James replies slowly. "Why?"

Fucking shit.

"That may or may not be where I’m going."

James stares at him for a long moment. He blinks once, twice, and then it seems to sink in.

"Oh my god!" He cheers, grinning. "Yay! New Years together!"

"Not yay new years together!" Regulus hisses. "You’re going to be in the same building as all of my friends and I’m going to be near all of your motley crew!"

"Is that bad?"

"Well, it’s not going to end well, is it?"

"Oh, don’t be such a pessimist!" James whines. "It could be fun! You’ll love my friends! Plus, you’ve already met Remus."

"In a hospital setting," Regulus says flatly. "Where I am his doctor and he is my sick patient. Not in a pub in London playing pally because I’m shagging his friend!"

"Is this really freaking you out?" James asks. "I can try and convince them to go somewhere else. . ."

"No," Regulus grounds out, sighing heavily. "No. Sorry. It’s fine. It. . . you shouldn’t make your friends go somewhere else because of me."

"It’ll be okay, Reg," James says, smiling softly. "I promise."

Regulus puts the phone down, finishing his curls and putting the comb away.

"Do you know what you’re wearing tonight?" James asks and Regulus walks them to the bedroom.

"I have an idea. I’d tell you, but considering you’re going to be there now, I think I’ll leave it as a surprise."

"What a tease," James chuckles.

The door goes, and Barty’s voice rings out.

"Got to go. They’re here," Regulus says.

"I heard," James smiles. "See you late, love."

"Au revoir, soleil (Goodbye, sunshine)."

James’ face is beaming when he ends the call.

"REGGIE!" Barty suddenly screams.

Tossing the phone down on his bed, Regulus pops his head out his bedroom door.

"What?"

"Oh, you are here," Barty grumbles. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting on my bed," Regulus steps into the kitchen. "Is that such a crime?"

"He was on the phone with James," Pandora says from the cupboard where she’s getting out the shot glasses.

"What?" Regulus startles. "How. . ."

"I didn’t," Pandora smiles. "But the look on your face just confirmed it."

Regulus grumbles under his breath in French but Pandora just beams at him, placing the shot glasses on the table and pulling out a bottle of bright green drink.

"Ready to party, boys?"

"What percentage is that?" Evan frowns, while Barty is beside him practically vibrating with excitement.

"75%," Pandora says, pouring them all a glass. "Bottoms up!"

It is safely the most vial thing Regulus has ever consumed, and judging by the looks of everyone else, they agree with him too.

"Right!" Evan says, smacking the countertop and still shivering from the shot. "You two, go and get ready. I’ll keep Bartemius on a leash and make sure he doesn’t down that bottle while you’re gone."

Pandora nods, grabbing Regulus by the hand and practically dragging him back into his room.

She gasps, looking at the clothes on the bed. "Is that the fuck-me green shirt?"

Regulus smirks. "It is."

"Are you meeting James tonight?" She asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling out her clothes and makeup bag. "Probably not a good idea after a night of drinking at the Leaky. I can’t imagine you’ll be doing much together apart from drinking water and him holding your hair back while you vomit up your life choices."

"Actually," Regulus starts, hanging his towels up, keeping his back to her. "He just phoned to say they’re going to be at the Leaky tonight."

Pandora doesn’t say anything for a moment.

When she does, her voice is gentle and cautious, like she’s speaking to a wild, scared child.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Regulus shrugs, letting out a heavy breath. He turns, dropping down on the bed beside her.

"Just feels weird."

"Daunting, I imagine," she agrees. "Two worlds colliding. What are you more scared of, him meeting us or you meeting his lot?"

"Both?"

"You shouldn’t be scared of us," she smiles. "We’re an acquired taste, but we’re very pleasant and for all their teasing, Barty and Evan won’t do anything to chase him off."

"I know," Regulus nods. "Maybe it’s just meeting his friends then."

"What’s so scary about that?"

"Come on," he scoffs, glaring at her. "I’m hardly the easiest person to get along with. I don’t care if they don’t like me, but I care about. . . I want James too, and if his friends—"

"You’re more likeable than you think, mon ange," she murmurs. "Plus, James won’t stop seeing you just because you don’t gel straight away with his friends. He knows you, hell, when he first met you I’d bet my top set of teeth that you were horrible to him. He knows you warm up eventually."

Regulus gives her a flat look. "How flattering."

"Are you disagreeing with me?" She smiles. "Because I rather like my top teeth."

Regulus moans, dropping his head in his hands.

Pandora clicks her tongue above him, hand rubbing the tense line between his shoulders.

"Come on, my favourite drama queen. It’ll be fine, and if its not, then you’re in the best place on the best night of the year to drown your sorrows away."

"Fine," he sits up, "But if Evan and Barty start grilling him, I need your help getting them away."

"Of course, mon ange," she says, kissing his cheek. "Now, my eyeliner?"

The Leaky is packed out more than normal. Crowds of people are hanging out the front, loud and excitable as they smoke and exaggerate the alcohol in their systems. Inside is hot and stuffy, and Regulus wants to say more so than normal.

He’s unfairly sober, which feels like it can’t be true due to the 75% alcohol he was forced to drink at his flat, but it seems his body is burning through the alcohol faster than ever and leaving him tense and stone cold sober.

Barty is dragging them to the bar where Dorcas, Marlene and Mary already are. The moment Mary spots Regulus, she grabs him by the shoulders.

"James is here!" She shouts.

Fucking brilliant, he inwardly sighs.

"I know!" He shouts.

"I invited them because I saw them on Christmas Eve and it’s been so long since I got to spend time with my gall-pal Peter," she grins. "I can’t believe I got to meet him. He’s very yummy, Reg. You’ve done well for yourself."

"Please stop sounding like someones mum," Regulus groans. "Did you tell him you know me?"

"Of course I did!" She laughs. "He went all mushy and soppy asking shit about you. Don’t worry, I only told him the bad stuff."

"Why would I expect any less from you," Regulus grumbles.

"Right, break it up!" Barty suddenly shouts, shoving them apart and thrusting a glass into Regulus’ hand. "You, my friend, are far too sober so get that down you’re hatch and then I’ve got another one for you."

"What is it?"

"A pint of gin."

Regulus blinks. "A pint of gin? What the fuck, Barty—"

"Drink it, for fuck sake! You’re boring when we’re out and you’re sober!"

Regulus grumbles but does as asked. As soon as he’s finished, Barty is snatching the empty glass and replacing it with an espresso martini.

By some miracle, they manage to find a booth that isn’t already taken. Dorcas asks all about their Christmas’ while Marlene catches Regulus up on the disaster of the Meadow’s household Christmas morning when Dorcas supposedly ruined Christmas by being horrifically hungover and vomited in her little cousins breakfast.

"Stop it!" Dorcas howls when she realises what Marlene is saying. "You promised to not tell everyone!"

"I’m not!" Marlene laughs. "I’m only telling Regulus."

"But he might tell everyone else!" Dorcas cries.

"Hey, I’m not Barty!" Regulus defends. "I can keep things to myself."

When Dorcas smiles in relief, Regulus winks.

"I won’t with this, of course, because everyone deserves to know how you vomited in your cousins breakfast on Christmas morning."

"You what?" Barty shouts.

Dorcas glares at Regulus as sharp as knives.

"I’m going to kill you, Black."

"Do it after I get the next round, yeah?" He smirks.

"Did someone say next round?" Evan asks.

Regulus rolls his eyes, downing the half left martini he has before climbing out.

He’s standing at the back of the crowd for the bar, idly looking around when he spots James walking up. It seems for a moment, that James hasn’t notice him yet. When he does, the older boy seems to stumble to a stop, eyes widening before he’s practically breaking out in a short sprint.

"Reggie!" James cheers, sweeping him up in a hug and lifting him off his feet before Regulus can even mutter a reply. "Happy New Years, baby!"

Feet hanging in the air, James snatches Regulus’ breath away with a kiss, hot and tasting strongly of vodka.

When they break away, James is grinning at him.

"Hi," Regulus breathes, lips twitching. "Happy New Years to you too."

The tension seems to have seeped out of him within an instant. He sags in James’ hold, relaxing just by feeling James’ impossible warmth and seeing his sparking eyes behind his glasses.

James steps back, holding him at arms length and Regulus wants to whine at the new distance between them.

"Wow," he says. "I can see why you wanted to keep your outfit a surprise."

"It’s literally a shirt and jeans," Regulus laughs.

"Yeah, but you look amazing in it," James’ eyes travel up and down, drinking in every inch. Regulus shivers unconsciously. "You look—"

"Better than sex?"

James throws his head back and laughs. "Fuck yeah," he says, yanking Regulus close again and kissing him. "Better than sex. Although. . ."

"Keep it in your pants, Potter," Regulus warns. "I am not shagging you in pub toilets on New Years Eve."

"I was thinking more the back of a taxi," James grumbles.

"Oh," Regulus smirks, "in that case—"

"Potter?"

At the sound of James’ name called, Regulus internally sighs. They both turn in time to see none other than Frank Longbottom come stumbling up to them.

"Frank?" James laughs. "What the— what are you doing here?"

"Celebrating New Years, you twat! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Yorkshire?"

"Moved back a few months ago," James says. "Couldn’t stay away for long, could I?"

"No one can, it seems," Frank laughs. Only then does he seem to notice Regulus practically plastered to James’ side. "Oh. Uh, hi, Regulus."

"Frank," Regulus nods. He stares at the man, hoping the idiot will catch on quick enough to not mention how they know each other to James.

"Do you. . ." Frank frowns, looking between the two of them. "How do you guys know each other?"

"He stalked me at work," Regulus answers.

James gasps, pinching his side playfully. "I did not! He’s lying, Frank. I did not stalk him, I just brought him coffee a few times and he didn’t last too long before he cracked to the James Potter charm."

"I was bribed, more like."

"Shh," James grins, kissing his forehead.

Regulus cheeks burn red, and he’s grateful for the flashing lights to hide the flush on his skin.

Frank is still looking between them, looking both uncomfortable and bewildered.

"Well, I’m gonna—" he jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "I’m gonna go, but come find me later, yeah, mate? All the rest of your lot here too?"

"Yeah, the gang is back together," James smiles. "I’ll come find you later. They’ll all want to see you too."

Frank smiles and they both sling an arm around each other in a loose hug. Regulus feels like he’s stepped int he twilight zone watching. He barely contains the knee-jerk reaction to snatch James away from him. Jealous tasting bitter in his mouth like a venom.

James pulls away after a moment, and they both watch Frank walk off.

"You know Frank?" Regulus asks.

"Yeah!" James says. "We went to school together. How do you know him?"

Regulus stammers for a moment. "We. . . he did a, uh. . . shift at the hospital."

"No way! I knew he was studying his doctor degree but didn’t realise he worked at your place!"

Regulus hums, jaw clenched.

"Come on, I want you to meet everyone else," James says, grabbing his hand. "Man, what a small world! We both know Mary and Frank! And you know Remus, of course."

"Brilliant," Regulus mutters, words lost beneath the sounds of the music blasting from the speakers.

"Guys!" James cheers, bringing Regulus to a booth in the corner. "Marauders! This is Regulus! Regulus, I would like to introduce you to Peter, also known as Wormtail, Remus, also known as Moony, who you already know, and lastly, Sirius, also known as Padfoot!"

Regulus was in the middle of waving to the round bloke with messy blonde hair and Remus who looks more healthy than Regulus has ever seen him when James says that last name.

Regulus can’t even wonder if he heard James incorrectly, because one glance at the last guy at the table confirms it straight away.

There’s no mistaking it.

For a moment, it’s as if the world has simply stopped. He can’t hear the music anymore, can’t feel James’ hand on his shoulder, because all he can focus on is his heart stopping in his chest as he stares at the familiar face staring back at him.

Sirius.

His Sirius.

Right there.

Sirius is staring right back.

The flashing of the lights above them making it no harder to make out the familiar features of his long lost brother. The same cheek bones he remembers, the same piercing eyes, the same lip pulled down in a frown.

It’s him.

"Ras?" Sirius says, eyes not leaving Regulus’ once. "Is. . . what the fuck? Ras—"

Regulus steps back, shaking his head. His chest is impossibly tight, lungs refusing to work and entire body numb.

He looks at James, betrayal pooling in his stomach like a hot lava.

"You. . ." he croaks. "You’re him."

James is frowning, looking between Regulus and Sirius like he’s just connected the dots.

You’re the person who took him away.

You’re the person who took my brother.

You’re the person who took everything from me.

"You. . . all along—" Regulus chokes, vision blurring as tears cloud in his eyes.

"Ras. . ." Sirius says, standing up, but Regulus can’t.

He turns, barely maintaining his balance. He throws James’ hand off his shoulder when he tries to grab him, darting back into the crowd.

He needs to get out.

He needs out.

Out.

Out.

Out—

He can’t hear a thing above the blood roaring in his ears. He does the only thing he can think to do.

He runs.

— tbc.