carpe diem

28

It's the body's natural fight or flight response that triggers the physical symptoms of a panic attack.

The adrenaline hormone floods into the bloodstream, sending the body into a state of high alert. Heart rate quickens, which sends more blood to the muscles, dilating the blood vessels. Breathing becomes fast and shallow; an automatic attempt to get more oxygen into the body and to the organs.

These responses happen so fast that it sends the mind into shock. The quick heart rate and dilated blood vessels cause the body to sweat, its attempts to send more blood to the muscles counteracts itself and blood rushes to the core of the body, causing pins and needles to the extremities. The fast and shallow breathing doesn't allow for sufficient gas exchange, starving the body of the oxygen it was attempting to increase, causing dizziness and chest tightness.

Regulus knows this.

Regulus knows the pathophysiology of a panic attack, because he's talked patients and family members down from them on the ward.

Regulus knows this. Yet, as he stumbles through the mess room door on legs that feel like jelly and breathing so fast he feels the edges of his vision go dark, he feels like he's dying.

The sight of his mother at the reception desk, after not seeing her for five years, simply knocked the breath out of Regulus’ lungs. It was like a sucker punch to the chest, and within seconds, the world had tipped on its axis. Regulus had stared, wide eyed, breathing stopped, at the women who ruined his life and still haunts the shadows behind him.

Then, without another word, Regulus had shot out of the chair. With a muttered, hoarse 'excuse me', he’d practically ran from the reception desk back to the mess room.

Which is where he is now, where his body is covered in a cold sweat and his lungs are constricted, oxygen not entering as his chest flutters uselessly.

He barely makes it two steps into the room before the world shifts, his head is spinning and vision is blurred with the tears that threaten to run down his cheeks. His legs finally give out on him and he goes stumbling into the wall, barely catching himself from completely head butting the lockers and slides to the floor.

She’s here.

She’s here.

Why is she here?!

Fantom pain consumes Regulus’ body. His cheeks burn from the slaps, his ribs ache from the kicks and the hits, his head hurts from the punches. His mother’s vicious face flashes in front of his eyes, her piercing eyes and angry snarl before a promise of pain.

Everything Regulus has done since he took a knife to the inside of his wrists when he was 17 feels like it’s been ruined. The strings he’s used to keep himself together are coming undone, the walls around himself are crumbling. He structure he’s used to keep himself up has collapsed in on itself, all from the sight of his mother.

He worked so hard to survive that house, to make it out, to move on. He’s changed himself, locked the small boy that got beaten and bruised in a chest and buried it deep.

But now?

That chest has blown wide open.

The air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room through a vacuum. No matter how much he gasps and tries, there’s nothing around him to breathe and his lungs aren’t fucking working! His heart is beating a mile a minute, too fast, and so hard that Regulus is sure it’s visible on his chest as it erratically goes thump thump thump thump.

He hears himself let out a cry, but it’s muted underneath the roaring in his ears. His chest feels like it’s going to explode, he feels like there’s a belt around his ribs just tightening and tightening and tightening—

"—ulus?"

There’s hands on his shoulders, on his face, cradling his cheeks.

All Regulus can see is his mother’s vicious snarl.

"—g! Come on, Reg! Come on, buddy!"

A hand grabs his own, lays it flat on something.

"Feel my breathing, Reg. That’s it. Breathe with me. In and out, kiddo."

Something moves underneath his hand. Rising and falling rhythmically, slowly. Regulus tries to copy it desperately. His chest stutters, the small breath he manages to draw in a minuscule breath that feels like it’s drawn in through a straw. His head is pounding, his rapid heartbeat pulsating in his ears. He takes another breath, small and choked, but it goes in and he gets it back out.

"That’s it, Reg," the person says again, and finally, their familiar voice pierces through the fog around Regulus’ ears. Dorcas. "You got it. Nice and slow, in and out."

Regulus doesn’t know how long they sit there for. He doesn’t know how long Dorcas talks him down from a panic attack that trumps all of his breakdowns. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, meekly attempting to drag breaths into his deprived lungs and slow his heart rate down.

Breath by breath, his mothers face and voice disappears. The roaring in his ears quietens down, the only sounds he can hear are his own wheezes and Dorcas’ gentle encouragements.

Regulus is exhausted by the time he’s breathing normally. His entire body is sagged against the lockers, his muscles aching and his entire being drained. He blinks away the tears, and Dorcas’ worried face swims into view, but that only makes Regulus want to hide.

He wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

He feels his entire body burn with mortification, horror that Dorcas not only witnessed that, but had to help him through it.

The realisation only makes him feel weak.

One glance at his mother and suddenly he’s small again.

"T-thanks," Regulus rasps, voice sounding like he’s gurgled glass.

He tries to move his hand away from Dorcas’ chest, but she just threads their fingers together and holds him tight.

"No worries," she replies softly, thumb stroking his knuckles. "You alright?"

She’s looking at him like he’s a frightened child about to shatter.

Regulus hates it.

He hates himself for it.

And more so, he hates his mother for causing this.

He nods stiffly. "Fine."

"What the fuck was that about?" Dorcas asks, but not unkindly. Her tone is high with bewilderment and confusion.

If Regulus had any energy left, he’d laugh. He chuckle like a madman and probably cause Dorcas to call the psych ward on him.

But Regulus doesn’t have the energy to laugh at his bitter luck. Instead, he feels wilted and cracked, his emotions oozing out of him uncontrollably.

"My mother is here."

Dorcas blinks in confusion. Her thick, dark eyebrows furrow together.

"What? Who—" Dorcas cuts herself off sharply, her face blanching with realisation. Her jaw drops, eyes widening. "Oh my god," she whispers in horror. "Walburga Black? She’s— she’s your mum?"

Regulus nods. He feels oddly numb. Maybe he’s too tired to feel anything anymore.

"Shit, Reg," Dorcas sighs. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t even connect the dots with the surnames."

"It’s fine," Regulus whispers. "It’s not exactly an uncommon surname."

"It’s not fine!" Dorcas argues angrily. "You are not fine!"

Regulus swallows around a thick and dry throat, closing his eyes and slumping his head back against the wall with a soft thump.

"I just need a moment," he murmurs tiredly.

He hears Dorcas scoff.

"A moment ago, you were about to fucking pass out because you weren’t breathing, Reg."

"I’m fine. She just took me by surprise."

Dorcas doesn’t say anything, and when Regulus opens his eyes, he see’s her glaring at him.

"Am I the only doctor on today?" He asks.

"Yeah," Dorcas nods. "It’s just you, me and Effie running the ship this week."

Regulus flops his head back with another solid thump. "Excellent."

"You should go home, Reg."

"No."

"I’ll get someone else to come in—"

"I said no!" Regulus interrupts. "I’m good, Cas. I just… I just need a few minutes to get my head on straight."

Dorcas doesn’t look convinced. She stares at him with clear conflict.

"Please," Regulus begs quietly.

I can’t runaway.

Leaving today won’t escape them.

Please, don’t force me to be weak.

"It might be a conflict of interest, you staying."

"Why?" Regulus asks, voice shaking with emotions. He feels his chest tighten, his breath hitching, threatening to plunge him back into the black abyss of another panic attack. "Why is she here, Cas?"

"Her husband, Orion Black, was admitted last night. He had a TIA, came in via ambulance," she explains slowly. "Is he…?"

"My father," Regulus nods, closing his eyes in despair.

His father is sick. His father has had a stroke, and now he’s here.

They’re both here, and Regulus has to deal with that?

He has to deal with seeing them, interacting with them, dealing with the emotions that are making him feel like he’s going to explode.

A hand grabs his own and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Reg, I… I’m so sorry."

"Don’t be," Regulus chuckles coldly.

Don’t be sorry that he’s ill, because he deserves it.

Don’t be sorry for my poor, poor fucking luck that he decided to come to this hospital.

And worse, he had a neurological problem that landed him right in my lap for these next few shifts.

Un-fucking-believable.

It’s not Dorcas’ fault, but he knows that she’s sorry for the wrong reason. She’s sorry that Regulus’ father is sick, but Regulus is sorry that he is the one who has to deal with him.

"I can’t go home, Cas," Regulus says. "I know you won’t understand, but I need to do this. If I go, I won’t be able to come back until he’s gone, and we don’t know when that will be. He could be here for weeks, and they won’t let me take that time off for a little family squabble. I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to be here and care for all the patients on the ward."

"But what about you, Reg?" She stresses. "Just seeing the woman sent you into a fucking panic attack!"

Regulus shakes his head. "She just took me by surprise. I know she’s here now, and my father too. It won’t happen again. I can do this."

"I know you can," she smiles sadly. "It’s just whether you should."

"I’m a doctor. This is my job. It doesn’t matter who the patient is."

Regulus doesn’t know if he’s spewing bullshit right now. He doesn’t actually know if he can handle his parents being on the ward, but he refuses to back down.

He’s not a coward.

He’s Regulus Black; qualified doctor and neurosurgeon student. He survived his parents for 18 years, he can last another week. He’s older now, stronger, wiser.

He’ll fucking prove it.

"You sure?" Dorcas asks.

Regulus nods. "Yes."

"Fine," she concedes, sighing heavily. She doesn’t even look half-convinced, but then she’s nodding and standing up, "Stay here. I’m going to get the handover sheet and we’re doing it in here."

Regulus frowns as she walks away, confused. "What?"

She shrugs, reaching for the door and says, "You look like you need a bit more time before you have to face the music."

She’s gone before Regulus can reply, or argue, or what he should do; thank her.

Thank her again for talking him down from a panic attack.

Thank her for not judging him for having a panic attack at the sight of his mother.

Thank her for not sending him home.

Thank her for allowing him more time in privacy by bringing the handover in here.

Regulus breathes slowly and deeply through his nose.

Truthfully, he has no idea how he’s going to do this shift. Maybe he should go home like Dorcas suggested. Maybe he should admit defeat now and protect himself, to try and get that chest re-closed so he doesn’t have to relive all the memories that Rasalas barely survived.

Can he handle a day on the ward with his estranged mother? Can he handle seeing his father, the man who has broken his bones and haunts his childhood, as a sick man? Can he handle treating his father as a patient instead of the abusive monster he truly is?

Regulus isn’t sure, but there is one thing he is sure of; he’s not Rasalas anymore.

He’s not that kid that got smacked around and punished.

He’s not that kid that was too weak to stand up for himself.

He’s not that kid that was scared of his parents.

He’s Regulus. He’s a doctor, and he’s a neurosurgeon. He’s an adult, independent and successful.

Plus, he can always call security and get Walburga thrown off the ward.

Shame he can’t do the same to Orion.

The door of the mess room opens and Dorcas steps inside, the handover sheet tucked under her arm and a mug in her hand. She closes the door quickly behind her, before crossing the room and sitting on the floor in front of Regulus.

"I figured you’d want this," Dorcas smiles, handing the mug of coffee he made and abandoned over to him.

"Thank you," Regulus breathes. He takes the mug with shaking hands and takes a small sip, pleased that it doesn’t make the mild nausea in his stomach any worse.

"You’re welcome. Ready?"

Regulus nods.

Listening to Dorcas handover is a good distraction. Regulus quickly immerses himself into focusing on the patients that he is going to have in his care today. The normalcy settles the nerves that felt like they were on fire inside Regulus’ body.

Of course, all the effort his body does to calm itself down is futile.

As soon as Dorcas gets to his father, his body seems to slam into overdrive again. Regulus forces himself to listen, to mentally detach himself from the person they’re talking about, instead trying to treat it as another patient he knows nothing about.

It’s hard, but Regulus is a professional for a reason.

He just has to dissociate Orion Black as his estranged father.

Orion Black is a patient.

Nothing more.

"So, Orion Black, 55 years old, brought in yesterday via ambulance. 999 was reportedly phoned because he suddenly became unresponsive, though he was conscious, his wife reported that he wasn’t responding to any verbal or physical stimuli. By the time he arrived at A&E, he was responsive but confused, and presented with slurred speech, paralysis to the left side of his body including his face, arm and leg. All symptoms resolved two hours after onset, so he was moved up here for observation. At three AM this morning, he presented with another TIA and the same symptoms. By half four, they had all resolved again. He’s being kept in for observation and assessment, and so far the plan is to put him on a prescription of anticoagulants. His scans have shown that the first TIA was in the frontal lobe, and the second TIA this morning was in the temporal lobe.

"He hasn’t got any relevant medical history, but during assessments we’ve noticed he has got consistent hypertension and a history of smoking. Apparently, there is no neurological family history, but he does have a cardiac history of heart attacks on his paternal side."

Regulus nods at that. He knows there is a history of heart attacks on his dad’s side. His grandfather died of one the same year Regulus was born, and his uncle Alphard died of one when Regulus was 16, just over a year after Sirius ran away.

Regulus wishes Orion had followed in his father and brothers footsteps right now, because then his father would be on the cardiac ward with Barty and Snape instead of here with him.

"He’s recovering well, and he isn’t very happy about having to stay here for assessments. I’ve of course explained to them that they can discharge themselves against medical advice, but they haven’t yet."

That’s a fucking shame, Regulus thinks. He’d highly appreciate if Walburga and Orion decide to self-discharge and fuck back off to France.

"We’ve got him on a regime to try and stabilise his blood pressure, and at the moment, he’s just here for observations. He’s got another CT scan this morning, but at this moment in time, it’s just a waiting game to see if he has another TIA or not."

"Okay," Regulus replies, nodding.

He can do this.

He can do this.

He’s done hundreds and thousands of TIA patients before. Orion Black is no different.

Regulus won’t allow them to ruin anything else for him. They ruined Rasalas Black, and they won’t ruin Regulus too.

"You gonna be alright today?" Dorcas asks again.

Regulus nods. "Yeah. I’m all good."

Dorcas looks like she’s going to go back on her word and send him home, so Regulus flashes her an honest smile.

"I promise, Cas. I’m not going to freak out again."

"It’s not that that I’m worried about," Dorcas sighs. "I’m worried about what happened between you two to make you react like that."

Regulus can barely contain the flinch in response to Dorcas’ admission.

She has no idea. There are only five people other than Regulus and his parents who know what happened while he lived under their roof.

18 years of abuse.

18 years of pain, bleeding wounds, repeated bruises.

18 years of wanting to die just to get away from them.

He can’t tell Dorcas. He can’t tell her that the two people on the other side of the mess room door abused him for the first 18 years of his life. He can’t tell her that they beat him, emotional ruined him, and practically broke him before he came back to London.

He can’t tell her. He doesn’t want to see her reaction. He doesn’t want to see the judgement it’ll cause on his image to her. He doesn’t want his parents being here to have an effect on his life, because this is his life.

He’s spent five years reinventing himself. He can’t allow the secrets to come out and for it all to be ruined again.

"We don’t have a good relationship," Regulus settles on saying.

"Yeah, I figured as much," Dorcas scoffs. "What I hate to think is whatever they have done to cause you to have a panic attack."

"It doesn’t matter," Regulus tries. "It was a long time ago."

"I don’t believe that, but today and here is not the place for you to tell me. Just remember that you can tell me. We may be work colleagues, but we’re friends first, Reg. You are my friend, and you have my unconditional support."

"Thank you, Cas," Regulus says thickly. "I’ll be alright today. You need to go home and sleep."

"I will," she smiles. "But phone if you need anything."

Regulus nods, but he knows he won’t. There is not way he’s going to disturb Dorcas’ sleep before her third nightshift tonight over a meltdown at work.

Regulus doesn’t do meltdowns at work. Even when he was a student, he always kept his breakdowns and freak outs for when he got home. He never showed his fear on shift, he never let the other doctors and nurses see him sweat.

Until today.

Until his mother turns up at the ward, and all of Regulus’ strengths disappear.

Walking back onto the ward after Dorcas has gone feels like walking into a shooting range. Regulus can barely focus on keeping his legs from buckling as he makes his way over to the reception desk where, thankfully, his mother is no longer standing. Regulus lets out a sigh of relief, but it isn’t much. There is nothing stopping Walburga coming storming out of Orion’s hospital room, and he knows that. The thought sends his body cold, goosebumps mottling his skin.

When he gets to the reception desk, he refuses to sink so low into the chair that he is hiding. He sits, shoulders back and forcing himself to take a deep breath, because he is a fucking doctor god dammit!

He will not be chased out of his work place, his profession, where he is successful and respected and bloody brilliant at his job, all because two skeletons from his closet decided to make an appearance.

Orion is sick. He needs Regulus. He needs the medical help Regulus and the rest of the staff can provide.

Regulus has the upper hand here, he just needs to stop bloody shaking!

"Doctor Black?"

He looks up and see’s Alex, and he flashes her a smile, "Morning, Alex."

"Mrs Lynch in 401 is ready for her neurological assessment exam."

"Excellent," he nods, standing up. "I’ll go in now."

The neurological assessment takes up much of Regulus’ time, as well as discussing the findings compared to their scans and blood results with the patient and their family. Regulus keeps himself busy with phoning physio to come and begin consulting with the family of a gentleman’s whose spine and neck have been compressed like a stomped on soda can. He schedules scans for patients, examines blood results, prescribes medications and decides on diagnosis’.

By lunch time, Regulus has done everything in his power to subtly avoid going into Orion’s room. His mother hasn’t come out again, and the door has stayed firmly shut apart from the HCA’s going in every hour to check his observations.

However, Regulus can’t avoid them forever. The time comes, almost half way through his shift, when Regulus has to go in and face the music. Orion had a second TIA that morning, and Regulus has no choice but to perform another assessment to make sure all of the neurological dysfunctions Orion sustained have actually all resolved.

Regulus reads Orion’s file, familiarising himself with his medical history and what apparently happened pre-hospital and during his stay so far.

So far, the cause for Orion’s TIA’s have been put down to high blood pressure. The readings they have got for Orion’s blood pressure have been high enough to admit him to hospital because that alone put him at a high risk of a stroke. Clearly, too little too late, because his body reacted the exact way the trigger would have; a blood clot in the brain.

Nothing else on Orion’s file stands out. He’s an ex-smoker, apparently he quit about three years ago, though the Orion Regulus remembers was rarely seen without a cigarette in his mouth unless he was in a court room. His mother too; specifically those ultra slip ones she always got from France with a gold holder on the end so her fingers didn’t smell.

As far as medicine goes, Orion is a perfect candidate for neurological dysfunctions like strokes and TIA’s. Apart from not being overweight, he has two huge risk factors.

It was almost as if he was destined to land his sorry ass on Regulus’ ward.

As familiar as he can be with his estranged father’s medical history, Regulus gets up on surprisingly steady legs and makes his way to the private room that Orion has been settled in.

As he lifts his hand up and knocks, he feels like his heart is going to break out of his ribcage.

"Enter."

The single word, the crude command, makes Regulus jut his chin up and stroll right in. He’s heard the word a hundred times in that tone, in the dismissive, cold and prudent form that used to make him cower in fear and dread what he was going to be faced with on the other side.

Walking inside, he finds his father stretched on the bed and his mother is standing beside him with her arms crossed. Her expression doesn’t change when she sees Regulus. If she’s surprised, she shows absolutely nothing.

Regulus didn’t get a good look at his mother when he saw her at the reception desk. The moment her recognised her, his vision tilted and all he could see was the woman who stared down at him as a child.

Now, he looks at her and he realises she hasn’t changed a bit. Her hair is black and styled back in a flawless bun, as it always was when they were growing up. The same sharp cheekbones and bow-lips that she passed down to her sons are cutting and defined. His mother a tall woman, and now Regulus is into his twenties, she’s still taller than him by a few inches. She stands thin, tall, towering like a ghost or a dark entity, and she’s staring at Regulus like the one thing she loathes most in the world has just walked into the room.

Her gaze is cutting and cold when she looks at him. Her familiar eyes that used to make him crumble, now make his back straighten. He refuses to cower beneath this woman, not when this is his one chance to show them everything they lost when they pushed him away.

Unlike his mother, Orion has not aged well. In the five years since Regulus last saw him, the man seems to have aged a decade. His eyes are drawn, his face sunken in a way that makes him look haggard and weather-worn. His black hair has patches of grey in it, and while his father was never a fat man, he seems to have lost the majority of the muscle and bulk that used to intimidate Regulus and Sirius. Regulus knows Orion is unwell, but the bags under his eyes and the pallor of his skin makes him look frail.

His father looks truly sick.

More importantly, his father looks nothing like the man who used to break their bones and whose shout would shake the house like a detonated grenade.

"Good afternoon," Regulus greets, voice tense and the folder clutched tightly in his hand. "I’m assuming introductions aren’t necessarily in order."

"It’s true," Orion says, and the sound of his voice almost has Regulus flinching. The older mans eyes are widened, his eyebrow hitched. He looks a combination of surprised and unimpressed. "You’re here."

His throat seems to betray him in that moment, and all Regulus can do is nod. He isn’t sure what Orion was expecting. Did he want Regulus to give him a hug? Or apologise? Or cry because his father was the one in the hospital bed?

No. No way.

This is not some happy family reunion.

This is Regulus’ worst fucking nightmare.

The only hug he will be giving today is to a bottle of fucking vodka when he gets home.

"We were scheduled to have an assessment by a doctor," his mother says.

Regulus almost smiles. Of course they believe that Regulus is not highly qualified. Not that there is anything wrong with being a HCA, or a nurse, or anyone else on the ward. Even the cleaners, porters and the kitchen staff are insanely valuable to the ward, but Walburga and Orion don’t see that.

They probably wouldn’t even be impressed if Regulus owned the hospital.

"I am the doctor."

"Why are you in different uniform, then?" Walburga asks. "The girl this morning was dressed in red."

"I’m also a neurosurgeon student."

"A student? At 23?" Walburga questions.

Regulus knows exactly how Walburga means that; she’s not baffled that he’s a qualified doctor and training in neurosurgery at only 23. She thinks he should already be qualified in everything at 23.

"Is my son being my doctor not a conflict of interest?" Orion asks.

Regulus almost scoffs. In no way is Orion going to get any free passes due to him being Regulus’ biological father. If anything, it’s going to cause Regulus to give less of a shit about the man’s wellbeing. There is nothing more Regulus wants to do than walk away and let Orion cope on his now, but Regulus has taken an oath as a doctor, and in the hospital, personal feuds are nulled.

"I’d like to keep this short and professional, but if you wish, you can request for another doctor to participate in your medical care."

Do it.

Fucking do it.

"That won’t be necessary," Walburga replies. "Unless you are unable to provide your father with the best care this hospital claims to be able to bestow."

Regulus clenches his jaw. Typical of her to cast a low blow against Regulus’ ability to do his job, assuming that he is either unable to manage it, or that he is too immature to put aside his differences to treat Orion like every other patient.

"There will be no concerns of conflicts of interest. Nor will Orion receive anything less than the best care this ward can provide. All of the doctors here, including myself, are the best of London," Regulus says stiffly. Then, he looks his mother dead in the eye and coldly adds, "I can assure you of that, Walburga."

The use of her name seems to take to Walburga like a physical slap. While she doesn’t flinch, or gasp, her eyes become colder and her jaw clenches a fraction; a clear sign that Regulus has aimed, shot, and hit the target.

Bullseye.

"So," Regulus starts, looking at Orion on the bed. "I’ve read your file, and the details of the first and second TIA you have experienced. What I would like to do today is carry out a cranial nerve exam, which will consist of some tests to see if there are any lasting dysfunctions. After that, I have scheduled you for another MRI scan to make sure that there is no abnormalities left over from the blood clot."

The older man doesn’t look impressed. "I had an MRI this morning after the second TIA."

"Yes, and it is regulations to perform another MRI after so much time to make sure all the blood vessels have corrected themselves. Considering you had two TIA’s within 12 hours in two different areas of your brain, we cannot be too cautious."

"How long will this take?" Walburga asks.

"The exam will take about 30 minutes, and the MRI will take anywhere between half an hour and two hours," Regulus answers.

"Right," Orion sighs. "Shall we get on with it then?"

Regulus nods. "Let me grab a few things. I won't be a minute."

When Regulus walks out, he lets out a breath that seems to deflate his lungs. He lets his shoulders slump, his entire body aching from how unconsciously torte and stiff he was holding it around his parents.

It was something ingrained into him and Sirius from a young age; straight posture, stiff spines, chins raised. Regulus and Sirius spent years being punished, Sirius because he purposely disobeyed and defied them, and Regulus because the moment he became anxious or afraid, he’d curl his shoulders round his eyes or duck his head from his mother’s angry expression.

Regulus has become a bit more relaxed since living away from the Black’s. His posture is more stiff than most, and he still looks down his nose to people he doesn’t like, but he knows how to slouch and unclench when he needs to.

He spends less than five minutes in the same room as his parents, five years on, and he’s straight back to standing like he’s got a stack of books balanced on his head.

It’s until he’s stepped out of the room does he remember how exhausting it all is. The anxiety, the tension, the stiff back, the caution for what he says. His shoulders twinge, his neck feels sore, and his stomach feels like it’s about 0.5 seconds away from bringing up the coffee he drank a little while ago.

Regulus gives himself a moment when he goes to the reception desk. He lays his palms flat on the desk top, tilts his head up and takes a long, deep breath through his nose until his chest is expanded, then he breathes out slow and controlled through parted lips. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply until he feels like he isn’t going to vibrate out of his skin.

I can do this, he thinks.

I lived with them for 18 years, and I survived.

I can survive another few days.

I am in control.

Regulus opens his eyes and shakes out his shoulders. Feeling calmer, he grabs the file again, a bottle of hand sanitiser, and the empty mug of coffee he drank from earlier. He strides back to Orion’s room with a fresh air of confidence, snatching a pair of gloves off the wall as he reenters the room.

"Ready?" He asks.

He’s responded with Orion nodding and Walburga moving to the side, her arms still crossed and dark eyes watching Regulus almost calculatingly. It reminds Regulus of an exam invigilator during his years as a student.

Good for Regulus that he aced every exam he’s done during his studies. Walburga’s intimidating demeanour is nothing compared to being watched by a chief doctor or a neurosurgeon.

"Right. So, the first assessment is testing the function of your olfactory nerve, which is the nerve that transmits information about smell," Regulus explains as he grabs the bottle of hand sanitiser and the empty mug. He squirts some hand sanitiser on one hand, and holds the mug with the other. "Can you smell these two things?"

Orion nods after he sniffs, looking slightly put out by the potentially weird first test, but Regulus does not falter.

"Good," he says, putting the hand sanitiser and mug back. "The next test is a pupil test, which I’m sure we have done to you a dozen times since you’ve arrived. As I’m sure you are aware, pupil sizes and responses is a clear indicator of abnormal pressure in the brain causing damage to your optic nerve and the brain stem."

Regulus shines a light in both of Orion’s eyes, satisfied to see the pupils react equally and shrink to a normal size.

"Okay, and can you read the Snellen chart off the wall for me. As much as you can see from where you are."

Orion does, reciting the letters off with seemingly no difficulty.

Regulus goes through the rest of the assessment, Orion’s responses are according and nothing raising concern. By the end of the test, Regulus is satisfied that Orion has not suffered any adverse effects of his TIA’s, and tells them as such. He quickly excuses himself back to the reception desk to write up the results and sends the HCA’s to take Orion down to his MRI appointment.

Regulus doesn’t look up when Orion is wheeled out of his room and down the corridor. He keeps his head down, eyes on the file, feigning indifference. A quick glance at the wall shows it’s 1:30 in the afternoon, meaning that Regulus only has five hours left.

Regulus looks up when he hears someone approach the desk, and his stomach falls to his feet when he sees it’s his mother, eyes on him and clearly coming over for one purpose.

It reminds him of all the times Sirius bothered him at the reception desk while Remus was admitted. Oh, how Regulus is wishing for those times again. Regulus didn’t think there would ever be a day that he’d wish for Sirius to be here to bother him.

He stands corrected.

He’d take Sirius over Walburga any day.

Regulus sighs."Can I help you?"

"You're a doctor," his mother replies.

Regulus nods. "Yes."

"How long?"

"Two years."

His mother hums, looking around the ward. "So, this is where you came when you ran off from Edinburgh?"

Here we go, Regulus thinks. He managed the majority of his shift without this coming up. He supposes he should be grateful for that.

"I didn’t want to do law," Regulus replies stiffly, looking back down at Orion’s chart notes.

"You could have said. Medicine is a well-respected profession," Walburga says, and Regulus raises an eyebrow at her.

"You wanted me to be a lawyer."

"We wanted you to be successful and respected."

Regulus scoffs before he can stop himself. "Right."

"We would have approved of training to be a doctor," his mother adds.

Regulus barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

How charming, mother.

"Good to know," Regulus exhales heavily. "What are you doing in London?"

"A business trip."

Of course, Regulus figures, and also fantastic; because that sounds like they haven’t moved back here. As soon as Orion is discharged and this ’business’ is dealt with, they’ll be going back to France or wherever they flew over from.

"We’ve obviously had to cancel all of Orion’s meetings for the foreseeable future, which is going to have a detrimental impact on the company," Walburga continues. "The sooner you can fix him and he can be discharged, the better. We’re both very busy, and this trip is important."

"Strokes and TIA’s are not something we can simply 'fix'," Regulus grounds out. "Orion has many compounding factors that put him at a higher risk of experiencing strokes. His smoking history and his blood pressure are—"

"He stopped smoking years ago, and the doctor last night said he was being put on medications for the blood pressure," Walburga interrupts sharply. "I can not understand why you people are so determined to keep him here."

"Because his body needs to adjust to the medication, and while we have got his blood pressure down, it is a chronic aliment and it needs to be monitored to make sure the medication we are going to prescribe is going to keep his blood pressure consistently managed," Regulus explains. "If Orion goes home, and his blood pressure spikes again, he could have another stroke. This time, it might not resolve itself and he will be left with permanent side effects that will affect his day to day life."

"Don't be so dramatic," his mother scolds, and Regulus can't help but gape at her.

He's a fucking doctor. A neurological doctor! He knows what he's talking about.

"You won't be calling me dramatic when he dies of a brain aneurysm, Walburga," he replies.

His mother doesn't even twitch at the blunt declaration that her husband could die. Instead, she looks at Regulus, much like she did when he was giving Orion his neurological assessment. She's watching him, calculating him, her dark eyes picking him apart.

Eventually, she blinks and tilts her head.

"You’re angry at me."

Regulus scoffs coldly, shaking his head.

State the fucking obvious, mother.

"Why?" His mother asks, and Regulus feels like his eyes almost budge out of his head.

"Why?" Regulus almost shouts, utterly baffled. "What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why?" She repeats calmly.

Regulus stares at her, wondering if she is really asking him this.

"I'm not doing this," he shakes his head. "I'm not doing this here."

"After all this time, and you won't even give me a reason why?"

"A reason for what?" Regulus chuckles coldly. "If you don't already know the reason why, then that's on you."

"We gave you everything, Rasalas," Walburga says. "We raised you to be a respectful young man, and you threw it all away the moment we gave you a chance to prove yourself."

Regulus gapes in horror and surprise. Raised him? Is that what they want to call it?

Is this woman delusional?

All they gave Regulus was fucking mental instability.

"You didn’t raise me," Regulus seethes. "What you guys did was not 'raising'. You wanted a fucking clone, Walburga. You wanted me to be like you, and anything less was unacceptable. You didn’t raise me, or Sirius, you tried to break us."

"Only weak people can be broken," Walburga replies, unfazed by Regulus’ sudden anger. "We didn’t want a weak heir."

"We were you sons!" Regulus snarls. "We were more than heirs, or at least, we should have been! We should have been more than a fucking product."

"That’s all children are; a product of their parents. We wanted respectful, successful, dominating sons."

"And in your attempt to achieve that, all you did was push us away,"

"You ran away because you were too weak to handle it."

Regulus flinches.

Weak.

That’s all they saw him as.

"Your brother did the same thing," Walburga continues. "He did everything in his power to fight against us, and all it did was end badly for him. He ran away the first chance he got, instead of working and focusing on becoming a respectful and powerful young man. We gave everything to Sirius, and he threw it all back at us because he was too pathetic to handle it."

"Don’t," Regulus snarls lowly.

At the mention of Sirius, he feels his back rise like hackles on a wolf.

Regulus never imagined he’d be the first to defend Sirius, but when Walburga mentions his brother and speaks badly of him, he feels anger make his vision bleed red.

Sirius is a lot of things, but he is not pathetic for escaping Grimmauld Place.

Sirius found an out, a route of protection from their parents, and he took it. That does not make him pathetic. Sirius fought back for years, he refused to bow to their parents, to crack under their pressures and their punishments. Sirius is not pathetic, he’s a fighter. He fought every step of the way, and while his actions later backfired for Regulus, he will never accept his mother’s views of his older brother.

"So, we focused on you. The son I always thought was going to be our pride and joy, our success. We protected you from what corrupted Sirius. We shielded you from the temptations, because we always thought you’d be the son that would make us proud."

"Do I not make you proud?" Regulus asks. "Look at me. I’m a doctor, I’m a neurosurgeon student, I have my own flat. I am successful, I am respected. Are you not proud? Or are you just resentful because I did it without you?"

Walburga says nothing. Regulus doesn’t take her silence as a win, because he can tell by her face that it’s not. She doesn’t look apologetic, or remorseful. She doesn’t look proud, she looks bored. She looks like Regulus’ achievements are almost laughable, as if he’s praising about something she doesn’t seem anything to cheer about.

Regulus will never be enough.

He wasn’t then, and he isn’t now.

While he always knew it would be true, it’s a tough pill to swallow.

"I have to get back to work," Regulus says, voice hoarse and strained. He clears his throat, standing up. "Excuse me."

Regulus does not run to the pharmacy room, but it’s a close thing. He swipes his card with shaky hands, almost dropping his lanyard and falling through the door. When he shuts it behind him, he slumps against the closed door and breathes through his nose.

He knows he shouldn't have expected any different. His mother would never admit to being proud of him, probably not even if he'd done everything they wanted. He will never be enough, even when he tried to be. Even when he pretended to be going to law school, they still looked at him like they expected him to fail.

He was never born the heir, and they would never see him as such.

She says they failed with Sirius so they turned to him, but Regulus knows they would never get over that blow. Sirius was the first born, he was always going to be the one they wanted to work. Regulus was the spare, always and forever, and even when it should have mattered, he was never going to be enough.

His chest feels tight as he forces the panic and the anxiety down. He can't have another meltdown. He can't!

It takes Regulus 10 minutes to get out of the pharmacy room, and after that, he busies himself for the rest of the shift. He avoids Orion's room at all costs, even when the HCA's inform him that he's back. He stuffs the scans in his file and distracts himself with other patients.

It's only when Dorcas is almost due to come back in, does he look at Orion's scans; they're clear, normal, fully unharmed by his TIA's.

It takes all day for Regulus to find the courage to send a text to Sirius. He should have done it in the morning, when he found out, but he’s spent the entire day feeling like his subconscious was teetering along the fine line between flight or fight.

He needs to tell Sirius. Despite their differences, Sirius was hurt just as badly by Walburga and Orion. His older brother deserves to know that the two people who hurt them the most are back in town.

In the end, his text is dry and simple. He isn’t sure how else to send it, because he needs to make it as clear as possible.

Regulus (19:03) no easy way to say this, but you deserve some warning: Orion has been admitted to hospital so both of them are back in London.

The reply from Sirius is not instant, but Regulus isn’t expecting it to be. His text is going to have the same effect as a bomb exploding, and Sirius is going to need some time to digest it before he replies.

Regulus busies himself with giving a handover to Dorcas and changing out of his scrubs. He gets down to his car just as Sirius’ reply comes through.

Sirius (19:42) are you joking?

Regulus (19:42) this is hardly something i would swoop low enough to joke about.

Sirius (19:42) how do you know?

Regulus (19:43) because he had a stroke so he’s been admitted to my fucking ward

Sirius (19:45) are you okay?

No.

Not even in the slightest.

Regulus (19:46) of course

Regulus pockets his phone after that. He doesn't remember the drive home, feeling completely mentally checked out. It's a miracle he doesn't crash or cause an accident, because suddenly he's standing in his apartment.

Robotically, Regulus showers and gets changed into a pair of sweats and a jumper. He doesn't even bother drying his hair before he's stumbling back into the living room and falling onto the sofa. He curls up in a ball, his entire body shaking as if coming down from an adrenaline high. There's a pressure behind his eyes, a gritting feeling as if he's about to cry, but nothing ever comes. He doesn't have the energy for it, even breathing feels like effort where his lungs and body and mind are shutting down.

Regulus doesn't how much time passes, but he's still staring blankly at the TV when the front door opens. He looks up in time to see James walk in.

"Hey," the older man says, voice soft.

"Hi," Regulus replies. He doesn’t have the energy to sit up, so he stays laying down as he adds, "I didn’t know you were coming over."

James sighs, closing the door behind him. He makes his way across the room.

"Sirius told me," he says. "Or more accurately, I forced him to tell me when I found him having a panic attack in the kitchen after he’d read your text."

Regulus feels a pang of guilt in his stomach. "He had a panic attack?"

James nods as he crouches down by his head, flashing him a sad smile. "Worst one I’ve seen in years. He... he didn’t react well to hearing his parents were back."

"No," Regulus murmurs. "I can’t imagine he did."

James’ expression is tired, his eyes so huge and so sad he looks down at Regulus. He looks as drained as Regulus feels, probably from witnessing his best friend go into a mega meltdown after Sirius heard the news.

A hand finds itself in Regulus’ hair, raking through the curls softly and massaging his scalp. Regulus’ eyes fall closed slowly, James’ ministrations by playing with his hair making some of the tension melt out of him.

"How are you doing?" James asks quietly.

"Fine."

"And the truth?"

Regulus sighs, shaky and hitched.

"I don’t want to talk about it," he whispers, and it comes out cracked and hoarse. His throat feels thick, emotions stripped raw.

"Okay," James replies softly. The hand in his hair hasn’t stopped, stroking and petting his hair in a way that James knows brings Regulus immense comfort. "Have you had dinner?"

Regulus shake his head slightly. "I’m not hungry."

"Reg…" James trails off slowly, but Regulus just… can’t.

He’s so tired, and he feels so dislocated from his own body that he feels like he can barely lift a finger. He feels sick, his stomach feels like it’s rolling in waves, his mind feels overwhelmed. He just wants to close his eyes and for everything to just stop. 

"Can… can you just lay with me?" Regulus asks, words shaking. He opens his eyes and looks at James, feeling his last resolve finally crack. "Please?"

James’ expression shows devastation, his brown eyes are big and sad like a puppy.

"Oh, baby," he whispers thickly, flashing Regulus a wobbly smile. He kisses Regulus’ forehead, and then he’s leaning back and saying, "Come on."

Regulus scoots himself back and James instantly lays down. Regulus is pressed between James and the back of the sofa, the taller boys arms coming around him like a safety blanket. Regulus tucks his face into James’ chest, burrowing into his jumper in attempt to physically hide himself from the world. The weight of James’ arms are grounding, trapping him in a way that makes Regulus feel safe and protected.

Regulus has felt so exposed all day, so vulnerable. He’s spent all day on high alert, as if his body and mind were constantly waiting for an attack. Now, he simple melts in James’ arms. He goes boneless, all the energy and tension dissipating and leaving him a limp husk of nothing. He feels like a puddle, his limbs so heavy and his mind so exhausted.

It’s only been one day.

One day, and he feels completely shattered.

"You’re so strong, baby," James murmurs, kissing his hair.

Regulus feels his eyes burn and sting. He clenches them closed tighter, grasping desperately to not allow himself to shatter in James’ arms.

"I don’t feel strong anymore," he whispers truthfully.

"I know," James replies, arms tightening around him like a warm, secure boa. "But you are, Reg. You’re the strongest person I know, and I love you."

Regulus exhales, feeling deflated. "I love you too."

He doesn’t know how he’s going to go back tomorrow. Orion is recovering well, but he shouldn’t be discharged anytime soon due to the quick succession of two TIA’s that put him at a high risk of having another.

That means they’re going to stay for at least another week.

Another week of Orion and Walburga Black.

Another week of being reminded everyday of what he grew up with.

Another week of facing the two people who drove him to the edge and kicked him off.

Another week of being reminded that the two people who were supposed so love and care for him most in the world, didn’t.

They never loved him. They never cared for him. They wanted a soldier, a machine, a replica of themselves. They wanted perfection, and Regulus couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t live up to their expectations, and they almost killed him for it.

And he has to face that now.

For five years, he’d buried it. He ran away, he changed his name, he made a new life for himself. It was hard enough seeing Sirius again, when that chest blew wide open again.

This feels like nothing compared to seeing Sirius again.

All the pain Regulus felt at seeing his estranged brother again, all the anger and hurt and confusion, it is minuscule compared to them.

Regulus doesn’t know if he can withstand it this time.

"I’m so tired," Regulus murmurs, voice muffled.

"I know, sweetheart," James says softly, stroking his hair. "Don’t give up, okay? They won’t be here for long."

"It’s already too much," Regulus admits brokenly.

James sniffles above him. "What can I do, Reg?"

"Just hold me," he whispers, and immediately, the arms around his back tighten.

"Always."

***

The next day, Regulus is graced by someone who is looking down on him from above, because it all goes to shit down in A&E and Regulus is dragged down almost as soon as he starts his shift. Slughorn carries the weight of the neuro ward while Regulus is elbow deep in blood, broken bones, spinal injuries and swelling brains.

Regulus is run ragged with the other emergency staff and doesn't make it back up to the neurology ward until gone midday. Slughorn is relieved to see him, mostly so the older man can crawl back into his surgical theatre cave and not have to deal with conscious patients and worried family members anymore.

The man is more of a silent patient kind of guy. Realistically, Regulus doesn't blame him. Patients who can't talk back are usually easier to deal with.

The ward is calm when Regulus gets up there, much to his relief. They haven't had any new patients overnight, but he does have to work this afternoon to discharge some to make spare beds for those who have come in downstairs.

He's barely sat down when Alex comes bouncing up to him. She leans on the reception counter, a coffee in hand.

"Glad to have you back, Doc," Alex smiles. "I got you a coffee."

Regulus eyes the takeaway cup suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"Nothing!" She yelps. "You just… you look tired."

Regulus blinks.

"Oh," he murmurs, taking the coffee somewhat guiltily. "Thank you."

"And..." She starts, swallowing nervously, "Mr Black is requesting to speak to the doctor."

Regulus knew there was something being served with his free coffee.

"Of course he is," Regulus mutters, rubbing his temple where a headache is beginning to form.

"I was hoping a good coffee might make it less painful for you," she shrugs. "I’ve, uh… I’ve noticed."

When Regulus flashes her a look, she shrugs again, looking nervous.

"I know he’s more than just a pretentious patient to you," she says.

Regulus sighs heavily. He wasn't sure how long he could keep it under-wraps that Orion Black was his father, and worse, a father he has and wants nothing to do with because he's a massive jackass. Regulus knew it wouldn't take very long for the rest of the staff to put their surnames together and realise their relation, but he had hoped his professionalism would outshine his resentment and it wouldn't be so obvious that their not exactly a loving family.

'He is," Regulus nods. "Is it that obvious?"

She smiles. "No. There isn’t anything you’ve done with them. You just… you just look really stressed every time you have to do anything with him or his wife."

"Right," Regulus sighs again.

"Are they your parents?"

"Unfortunately," Regulus mutters.

"You're nothing like them."

Regulus blinks in surprise.

"Really," Alex adds. "If you don't mind me saying, your father is really rude, and your mother is just... mean. You're nothing like them at all, Regulus."

"Have they done something?" Regulus asks, suddenly worried. Alex is the last person on the ward to speak badly about patients. She's too kind, too forgiving. She seems to believe people in pain can be assholes to her just because they're unwell. It really annoys Regulus, because while she's a badass nurse and will stick up for anyone else, she seems to allow patients and family members to walk all over her.

"Not much," she shakes her head. "They've been rude to pretty much everyone. I know they have Dorcas a hard time too, because she's black."

Regulus feels his eyes widen enough that they almost bulge out of his skull.

"They what?!"

"She probably didn't say anything because she didn't want you to get upset, or feel guilty. Which you shouldn't, by the way. You can't control what they do, nor should you take the blame."

Regulus growls through his teeth. His stomach clenches with anger, embarrassment and guilt. His parents, two people who he is supposed to be 'a product of' have been rude, ungrateful, racist and probably sexist, to his colleagues.

Regulus comes across as a prideful individual. He would rather be viewed as pretentious and snobbish than for people to view him as what he feels like. However, for all of Regulus' achievements and generally prickly personality, he does not like to view any of his work colleagues as anything less than essential.

To hear that his parents have been rude to them, looked down their noses at them, and questioned their ability to do their jobs, makes Regulus feel like a massive asshole. 

"Well, thank you for the coffee," he says. "Really. Thank you, Alex."

"You’re welcome," she smiles. "Good luck with Mr Black."

Regulus scoffs humourlessly, flashing her an unamused look.

When Alex walks away, Regulus drops his head in his hands.

Fucking hell, he thinks bitterly.

Twenty minutes later, his coffee is drank and he's built up the courage to approach his fathers room. There's been no changes to Orion's condition while Regulus was down in emergency, so while he has nothing to say to the man about his care or anything else, he's not looking forward to hear what he has to say.

When Regulus walks into Orion's private room, the older man is sitting up in the bed and reading a newspaper. Today, he clearly got sick of the hospital gown because he's dressed himself in a pair of suit pants and a white shirt. The suit jacket is draped over the back of the visiting chair, and his mother is no where to be seen.

"Good afternoon," Regulus says.

"Hello, Rasalas," his father replies as he folds up the newspaper.

Regulus hasn't quite told his parents that he's changed his name. It’s not that there hasn’t been opportunities to correct them, Regulus just hasn’t got the energy or the mental capacity to argue about it right now. He changed his name for one purpose: so they would have less of a chance of finding him. Turns out, it was futile. They didn’t even need to look, they just waltz back into his life unknowingly.

If there was ever a time that Regulus has wished he chose another speciality, it’s this week.

Why couldn’t he have gone for obstetrics or paediatrics? He would have never bumped into Walburga and Orion then.

"So, you’re the doctor who has been avoiding me," Orion says, voice drawled and unimpressed.

Regulus’ shoulders go taut with tension.

"I have not been avoiding you. I have spent the morning down in A and E, but I do apologise for keeping you waiting," he explains. "Alex informed me you wished to have a chat?"

"Yes," Orion sighs. "Any update on when I will be discharged?"

"We're planning for the end of the week."

The older mans eyes widen.

"The end of the week?" Orion snaps.

"We can not safely discharge you yet."

"This is absurd!"

Tell me about it, Regulus thinks grimly.

If it was up to me as your son and not as the doctor, you would have been out on your hind the moment you walked in the door.

"You will not think it is so absurd if we discharge you too early and you have a stroke that is so catastrophic it leaves you will life changing ailments."

Orion scoffs. "You keep talking about these possibilities, but so far, nothing has happened."

"What you have experienced so far have been transient ischaemic attacks, also called TIA’s. They are commonly referred to as mini strokes, because they are a stroke that resolve themselves without medical intervention. So, yes, we talk about these 'possibilities' because the next time may not be a TIA. It could be a stroke next time, and it will not be temporary, therefor you will be left with permanent symptoms."

"Then what is the point of the stuff you are pumping into me while I’m here?"

"They are preventives. The anticoagulants reduce the clotting agents in your blood to reduce the chance of further strokes and TIA’s, and the beta blockers are to reduce your blood pressure. At the moment, we are keeping you under observation while the medications cause the preferred adjustments to your body. That is why we can advise that you leave yet, because the medications are not instantaneous. They take time."

"Why can I not spend this time at home?" Orion asks. "I have cases that need my attention, clients waiting to be trialled. I can not spend the next five days in hospital when I am needed at work."

"You can discharge yourself against medical advice, but I do not recommend it. You are at high risk of another neurological episode."

"This is ridiculous," Orion hisses. "I am no help to my clients while I am in here."

"You will be even less of a help to them if you have another stroke."

Orion rolls his eyes, as if Regulus warning him of another neurological episode is beneath him. Regulus wouldn't be surprised if Orion believes he truly is above his inevitable state of mortality. The man thinks he's a god, as does his mother. He's sure they were more shocked to discover they weren't untouchable from health declines than they were that Orion's brain had decided to almost shit itself.

"Walburga not here?" Regulus asks.

"No," Orion replies. "She's currently rearranging the meetings we had scheduled for this week."

"Right," Regulus nods.

Thank fuck, he thinks. One of them is bad enough, but a day without his mother might make today even more bearable. At least Orion is the one in the bed and hopefully, won’t consistently bother him at the reception desk.

"And don't call her ’Walburga’," Orion snaps. "She is your mother, Rasalas. Have some respect."

Regulus doesn't say anything to that. He doesn't know what to say to that, other than that Walburga hasn't been his mother since she decided that locking him in a broom cupboard for five days was an appropriate punishment for a four year old who cried when he scuffed his knee at nursery.

"Do you need anything else?" He asks, itching to get out of this room.

"Your mother said you’ve been a doctor for two years," Orion says curiously, completely ignoring Regulus' question.

"Yes."

"Where did that come from?"

Regulus shrugs.

Orion’s eyes narrow disapprovingly. "A shrug is not an answer, Rasalas."

"I don’t know where the desire to become a doctor came from," Regulus says. "I just knew I didn’t want to be a lawyer."

"I always knew you'd never be a lawyer," Orion says, tone disappointed and reigned. "From the moment I saw you, I knew we'd failed with our spare."

Regulus winces, breath hitching.

Ouch.

What did he just say about Orion potentially being more bearable?

He takes that back.

"You should be glad I did you the favour of leaving then."

"You were always were a such a disappointment."

"I'm sure I was," Regulus mutters. "I wasn't born cruel like you."

"Cruel?" Orion laughs. "More like spineless. You would have never made a good lawyer. You're too soft."

"I didn't want to be a lawyer,"

"It was such a shame we failed with your brother. He had all the qualities, if only he'd allowed us to help him."

"Too bad you fucked up your relationship with him too then," Regulus snaps.

Orion's face blanches, going from shocked to angry very quickly. It reminds Regulus of years ago, because it used to be that that expression was a promise for a world of pain to come.

Now?

The only thing Orion can do is report him, but Regulus is pretty sure he can justify his actions to the board if they ever decided to process the complaint.

"Ring your assistance bell if you need anything," Regulus says, turning towards the door. He stops just before he opens it, turning around and glaring at the man on the bed, "Oh, and do try to avoid racist, sexiest, and ungrateful comments to the rest of the staff here. We are all here to help, and there is no need for people like you to be questioning their ability based on anything other than the care you have received."

Regulus doesn't wait around to hear Orion's reply.

He overruns his shift by three hours.

By the time Regulus gets home, it's almost 10 o'clock and he's exhausted in every sense of the word. He didn't have to see his mother today, but his father was bad enough. No amount of sickness or injury can make that man any less vile, and Regulus is feeling it.

He steps into his apartment and is instantly greeted by the smell of rich tomatoes and garlic. James is by the oven hobs, his back to Regulus, stirring whatever is omitting that mouth-salivating smell. Music is playing softly off the Bluetooth speakers, the curtains have been pulled and the lamps are on, casting the living room and the kitchen in a soft yellow glow.

When Regulus closes the door behind him, James seems to realise he's no longer alone, and he spins on his heel to look over.

The older boys face splits with a soft smile, "Hey."

"Hi," Regulus sighs. "Sorry I'm late."

James shakes his head. "No bother, darling. That's the life of being a doctor. How was it today?"

Regulus shrugs as he hangs his coat up and kicks off his shoes. "Didn't have to see Walburga, as she was apparently out and trying to save the all important business trip they're currently on."

"That's good, right?"

Regulus nods, but he doesn't really mean it. James must see it on his face, because the older boy flashes him a sympathetic look and crosses the room. Within moments, he's wrapped Regulus in a hug. Muscled, warm arms envelop him, and Regulus wraps his own arms around James' waist. He presses his face into James chest and just breathes.

For the first time in 14 hours, it comes easy and his lungs seem to finally relax enough to let a whole breath in. Regulus slumps, leaning his full weight into James who just takes it without a single twitch of struggle. 

"You're home now," James murmurs against his hair. "You survived another day."

"Yeah," Regulus murmurs. He takes another deep breath before he pulls back, craning his neck up to look at the familiar warm brown eyes.

James smiles down at him, and then he leans down to kiss him on the lips. It's soft and slow, just enough to make Regulus relax and the tension from the day melt away just a little bit more.

"What are you making?"

"My famous spaghetti meatballs. Figured you'd need something decent and hearty after today."

Regulus sighs happily, "Thank you."

"Always, sweetheart," James smiles. "It won't be ready for another 20 minutes or so, because I haven't put the pasta on yet. I wanted to wait until you were home so it wasn't overcooked and soggy. You have time to shower if you want."

"Yeah," Regulus breathes, nodding. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

Detaching himself from James feels like an impossible feat, but eventually, he pulls away and goes onto the bathroom to shower. Regulus feels like he’s dragging his body the whole way, his legs like lead and his arms too heavy to lift above his head.

The moment the hot water rains over him, Regulus sighs. His muscles seem to become like jelly, soothed by the hot water cascading over him. He closes his eyes, leaning against the shower wall, and just breathes. He wraps his arms around himself, digging his fingers into his ribs to try and ground himself. He feels both heavy and weightless, like he could sink to the bottom of the ocean or float off like a balloon. He doesn’t feel human, doesn’t feel like a person. He feels hollow, yet his bones feel like they’ve been turned to steel.

He feels the inside of his arm brush against his bare stomach, and when he looks down, his stomach clenches.

There isn't a time that Regulus has looked at the two jagged scars on each of his forearms and doesn't think of that day. They're a constant reminder of when he sat on that bathroom floor and tried to empty his body of blood, of life, of soul.

For years, Regulus didn't tell anyone of their reason. The only people who saw them was Barty, Evan and Pandora, and that's only because he lived with them. He told them it was from a car accident, and they bought it. Whenever he could, Regulus hid them. He hid them so he didn't have to lie about them, or look at them, or feel people's judgement on them.

He's become less self-conscious of them since being with James. He's stopped hiding them as much. He doesn't keep his top on during sex to keep them hidden, he doesn't sleep in jumpers or wears long sleeves every day of the summer and sweat his ass off.

Regulus has accepted his scars as James did. James isn't ashamed of them, or scared by them, or disappointed by them, so Regulus tries not to be.

And for the last few months, Regulus hasn't been ashamed of them.

But now, Regulus looks at his gnarly scars and only thinks of one thing: weak.

He was too weak to handle it.

He wasn’t strong enough.

He gave up.

He tried to get out, but he failed at that too.

He failed at being their son.

He failed at being their heir.

And then he failed when he tried to leave.

All he has done, is fail, and the scars on his arms are evidence of that.

He is permanently branded with his weakness.

Weak.

Weak.

Weak.

It’s one thing he can’t change. He can change his name, his job, his home. He can erase as much as he wants from his childhood, but the scars on his arms will never go away.

He will always be reminded of his weakness, of his failure.

Regulus doesn’t realise he’s crying until a sob bursts painfully from his throat.

For 23 years, he has built a wall around his pain, but now, the wall has broken and the dam has collapsed.

Regulus just… falls apart.

It feels like a belt has been strapped around his chest, and it’s tightening and tightening and tightening. The sound of his blood roars in his ears, overpowering the sound of his own cries. His legs go weak underneath him, his entire body vibrating and trembling as he goes sliding down to the shower floor. He curls himself as small as he can as the world around him shifts away.

His lungs refuse to expand as his vision suddenly becomes hazy. Black spots dance in front of him, the sight of his scars swim in and out of focus. He gasps, but his ribs feel too tight and his lungs feel too big and he can’t breathe.

He feels like he’s underwater, been plunged in a cold, deep and dark pool. His heart is racing so fast it hurts, pounding against his ribs like a caged beast fighting to get out. His throat is closing up, choking him. His sobs and breaths get stuck, trapped, and he can feel himself suffocating. He claws at his neck desperately, can feel the wheezes leaving his chest more than he can hear them.

I knew we'd failed with our spare.

Always were a such a disappointment.

Only weak people can be broken.

We didn’t want a weak heir.

Too weak to handle it.

Weak.

Broken.

Disappointment.

Too weak.

Failed.

Too weak.

Weak.

Weak.

Weak—

Regulus screams.

He wails like a banshee, trying to silence the words swarming around in his head.

He digs his nails into the scars on his arms. Maybe if he rips them open again, maybe if he tries again, this time he won’t be a failure.

He doesn’t feel the pain.

He doesn’t feel his nails dragging across the scars.

He doesn’t feel anything.

He doesn’t—

"REGULUS!"

The loud shout of his name penetrates through the fog around his head. He gasps, short and choked, in surprise.

He feels hands on his face, can hear now, someone talking to him.

"—eathe with me, Reg. You’re okay, just try and breathe with me."

He tries. He tries to take a breath in, but it catches at the back of his throat. He coughs, sobbing and whining.

The hands on his face stroke his skin slowly. They’re warm, grounding him, stopping him from floating away. He grabs onto them, curling his own hands around their wrists, holding on.

"—at’ it, baby. That’s it. Nice and slow. You’re okay, Reg. You’re okay."

James.

"Deep breaths with me, sweetheart."

Regulus doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually, with James’ ministrations, he manages to finally, finally, draw a full breath in. His lungs spasm with the oxygen, his chest loosens a fraction.

Considering how quickly the attack evolved, it takes so much longer to come down from it. Bit by bit, he becomes more awake. The water around his ears disappears, his breaths begin to come easier, his throat opens up and his ribs relax. He can feel himself shaking, vibrating so violently he feels like he’s falling apart. The dark spots clear from his vision, and James’ face swarms into view.

Exhaustion swarms his body. Every single part of him is zapped with energy, and he slumps bonelessly against the shower wall. He’s cold, but he doesn’t have the capacity to feel vulnerable as he sits curled up naked with James crouched in front of him.

Regulus didn't even realise that the shower had been turned off until he noticed the lack of cascading water over him. James must have done it when he came in, and Regulus was too lost in his panic to even notice.

James is watching him. He still has one hand on Regulus’ cheek, the other holding Regulus’ hand, their fingers threaded together and grip making his knuckles go white. The older boys clothes are wet, a sign that he ran in here and didn’t even process his own clothes before he climbed into the shower with him.

Fuck, Regulus thinks.

I’m a fucking mess.

"I’m sorry," he croaks.

"No, no, no," James shushes softly, shaking his head. "Don’t apologise, Reg. You’ve got no reason to be sorry."

"I’m o-okay," Regulus stammers, voice hoarse.

"No, you’re not, baby," James says, tone pained. "You’re not, and you don’t need to lie to me about it."

Regulus shakes his head, breath hitching. "I want to be okay."

"I know," James nods sympathetically, brushing Regulus' wet bangs away from his eyes. "But you don't need to be. With everything going on, you don’t need to be okay, sweetheart. No one expects you to be okay. I promise."

Regulus sobs, broken and loud. Tears stream down his face again, and his throat hurts from the brutality of the gasps and wails that seem to rip out of him. He's completely breaking apart in James' hands, his walls have fully collapsed and he is just crumbling.

His mothers vile words ring around in his head.

His father's booming shouts echo in his ears.

His arms ache where the scars are as if he's slicing his skin and spilling his blood all over again.

Regulus doesn't think he's cried this hard since New Years when he ran home after seeing Sirius again for the first time.

This overwhelming explosion of emotions just seems to tear him apart and now he can't stop.

The lid has blown open and he's just pouring out.

He looks down at the scars on his arms, and he shakes his head in defeat.

"I don’t want to be weak anymore," he admits between his cries.

"You listen to me right now, Regulus Black," James says sternly, forcing Regulus’ face up so they’re looking at each other. "You are not weak. These scars? They are not weakness! They show your strength," James stresses the words, and when Regulus tries to deny and shake his head, James' hold on his face holds his head in place. "It takes a lot of strength to attempt to take your own life, and even more strength to bounce back from it. People think that it’s weak people who attempt suicide, because it’s perceived as 'giving up', but they’re wrong. It takes an immense amount of courage and strength to actually go through with it."

Regulus clenches his eyes closed tightly, causing more tears to fall down his cheeks. James brushes them away immediately, but the affectionate action just makes Regulus cry harder.

"I failed," he whispers, voice cracking.

I failed as their son.

I failed as Sirius' brother.

I failed everything.

He looks at his scars and whines.

I even failed at the one thing that should have been easy: giving up.

"No, you didn’t," James argues. "You didn’t fail, Reg. You were saved. There’s a difference. Kreacher saved you, he stopped you, but it was you who chose in that moment to keep going. You chose to keep fighting, you chose to get out. You didn’t fail, baby."

Regulus takes a wet, ragged breath. He opens his eyes, and he almost whines when he see's James eyes are now swimming with his own tears. 

"How can you look at your life right now and say you’ve failed? Or you’re weak?" James asks softly. "You survived a childhood of hell, you moved to London alone and with nothing, you started an intense course and became some of the youngest qualified doctors in London. You graduated, you’re a professional neurologist, you own your own flat, your own car. You’re not weak, Regulus. Nothing about you is 'weak'. You being here today shows your strength. And these scars? They’re a reminder of what you’ve survived, that you survived."

"It’s not enough," he croaks. "N-nothing I ever do, or e-ever did, is enough for them."

"That’s on them, Reg. That’s a testament on them, not you. You are enough, you’re more than enough, and if they can’t see that, then it’s their loss."

"But why?" Regulus whimpers. "Why was I never enough?"

"Because you’re your own person," James says. "But it’s you who people love, who I love. You’re not like them because they’re awful people, and you’re not."

Regulus shakes his head, but James’ eyes harden.

"You don’t need their approval, Reg. I know it hurts, that your own parents are so cruel and horrid, but you don’t need them. You’ve proven that for five years. They are saying those things because they’re angry at themselves for pushing you away. They’ve seen what you’ve become, what you’ve done without them, and they hate themselves for it. They know they can’t get you back, so they’re trying to tear you down."

"It’s working," he croaks. "They... it’s only been two days, and I… I’ve never felt worse."

"Oh, Reg," James whispers, expression devastated. "I don’t… do you have to work this week?"

"There’s no one to cover if I go sick," Regulus admits. "If I go out, Dorcas and your mum have to pick up the slack, and I can’t put Dorcas through that."

Regulus can’t, he can’t force Dorcas to put up with them anymore than she already has to. His parents are vile, and the things they will, and probably already have, said to Dorcas make him feel sick to his stomach.

And Euphemia.

The moment his parents realise who she is, and who she is to Sirius, his parents will find a way to have her job. They will ruin her life, her career, everything.

He can’t do it.

He can’t let his parents ruin other peoples lives.

"I can do this," he whispers. "I just…"

"I know," James murmurs, kissing his forehead. "I know, baby. You’re doing fine, I promise."

Regulus laughs wetly. "I’m currently sitting bare ass naked in my shower after a fucking meltdown that you had to get me out of over a fucking suicide attempt six years ago. That doesn’t sound like doing 'fine' to me."

"And I’ll do it again, if that’s what you need," James says without a beat. "Whatever you need right now, I’ll give it to you, Reg. It doesn’t make you weak, or a failure, it just means you need a little breakdown sometimes. It’s not about the fall, it’s about how you pick yourself back up, and every time you fall down, I will be here to help you back up and keep going."

Regulus swallows thickly.

"Okay," he whispers.

"Okay?"

Regulus nods. "Okay."

James smiles sadly, stroking his hair again.

"Have you washed?"

Regulus shakes his head. He sighs, closing his eyes. "I d-don’t think I can stand up for that long right now."

James doesn’t say anything for a long moment. When the silence lasts until he feels James moving, he squints his eyes open to see James climbing out of the shower. What surprises him, is when instead of grabbing a towel, James strips his clothes and climbs back in.

It’s a testament to how tired Regulus feels that the sight of a naked James Potter standing above him doesn’t even make his dick twitch.

James shuts the door behind him, reaching up and taking the shower head off the wall. He turns the water back on, then sits down, crossing his legs. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, fitting two grown adults sat down in a shower, but James slides Regulus closer to him.

Regulus has never been happier that he bought a flat with a large shower now.

"What are you doing?" Regulus croaks.

James just smiles at him before he’s grabbing the shampoo and squirting it on his hand. He doesn’t say anything before he’s smudging the shampoo into Regulus’ hair and massaging it through.

Regulus closes his eyes, both soothed by the feeling but also content to just let James do it. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t even lift his arms to help right now, so he just focuses on not collapsing bonelessly into James’ chest. He finds it enduring how something they have done before, something that has almost always lead to sex, is now the most affectionate and tender moment of Regulus’ life.

James washes his hair, conditions it, and does a pretty decent job of washing his body considering he’s sitting down and there isn’t a lot of room with the two of them. After he’s rinsed off, he stands up and climbs out. He quickly dries himself, before he’s reaching in and helping pull Regulus to his feet. He dries Regulus off, wraps his hair in a towel, his body in another, before he’s scooping Regulus off the ground and carrying him into the bedroom.

They don’t say anything as James gets them both dressed. They don’t say anything as James carries him back to the living room. Regulus feels like he should be embarrassed, but he doesn’t care. He’s tired, he’s worn down, he’s exhausted in every sense of the word. He doesn’t want to do anything apart from curl into James’ chest and hide away from the world.

James sits him on the sofa, wrapping him in a blanket. He disappears into the kitchen, and comes back with two bowls of steaming spaghetti meatballs.

"Eat what you can," he murmurs, planting a kiss on Regulus’ hair.

They watch reruns of Interior Design Masters while they eat, and afterwards, James lays down and pulls Regulus on top of him.

Later, in bed, James kisses both of his scars. Regulus lets him, despite how nauseatingly vulnerable it makes him feel.

"I love your scars," the older boy whispers. "They’re proof of your strength, of what you’ve overcome."

Regulus feels his eyes water.

"They don’t define you, but they define your strength," James murmurs. "You don’t have to be strong all the time. The moments when you get tired, let me hold you up. You’re not alone this time, Reg."

"I know," he exhales.

"We’ll get through this," James kisses him. "Together."

Together.

— tbc.