cities in dust

There were so many things Narcissa wanted to say, wanted to ask. But where to start? “I was recruited by one of the top law companies in Britain. I start working there in a month.” Maybe that would interest him. After all, he had been the one who pushed her to go study in the first place.

With a slight shake of his head the unwarranted sensation of aching is gone, sinking back into the murky depths of his subconscious. “It... looks like a lot of things have changed, since then. I’m glad for you.”

“Both,” he responds, and after a pause he approaches Rosier to pull up a chair, a wan smile on his lips. “Though my appointment hasn’t turned up yet. Yourself?”

She sat forward in her chair, watching Regulus expectantly. Of course he would come, she was his Cissa. He wouldn’t allow the business to keep him from the most important day in her life… Would he?

The longer the silence stretched, the more her fears started eating at her. They wouldn’t be there. Nobody would be there. Not Bellatrix or Regulus or Sirius.

She looked away, had to look away otherwise he would see the tears glistening in her eyes, “Forget it.” The words came out softer than she had meant it, with less conviction. “Forget I asked. It was silly.” For a lack of a better distraction, she looked around for a waiter, not that she wanted to order anything. It just helped her keep her eyes dry.

It’s impossible, in that moment, how much he wants to reassure his cousin of that, and without thinking he’s reached his hands across the table, has taken her hands into his own, needing to give her something, a sign, anything- something to tell her what he’s trying to say without needing words for it. It’s not even about the invitation, now, it’s about something else, something more- even if he doesn’t know what.

He shakes his head minutely, “I’m sorry, I just...” he licks his lips, and he doesn’t know how to explain it, the hesitation, the stutter of apprehension that had overcome him. He smiles instead, a little pained, “Yeah... I’d. I’d be honoured to go.”

Remembering the coffee, she picked up the mug, drinking a bit before answering his question. “I have been… Well. I suppose. Life is good.” She still had nightmares – moments where Amycus had to wake her up and hold her otherwise she would freak out completely. But they were just that, nightmares. It was no longer part of her life.

“Not yet,” she shook her head, “we are waiting for things at my work to settle before finalizing plans. I do hope it won’t take longer than three years though.” Although he didn’t say it, Narcissa was sure Amycus was waiting for a more decent career before having her take his last name. It wouldn’t place her in a good spot if she, state’s prosecutor, had a husband in jail. With a lot more hesitation than normal, she asked, “If I invited you… Would you come?” Perhaps he could walk her down the aisle.

He almost asks where she’s working- there’s already curiousity deepening on his features, even though he already knows where she works. He doesn’t know what she’d think about him keeping up with her affairs. Either way, it’s... it’s probably best to just pretend he’s been completely out of touch. Out of her life, maybe.

If I invited you... would you come? If she invited... his thoughts stutter to a halt. Stop. If.

She’s inviting him to her wedding, he thinks. Him.

Yes, yes I would come. Of course I would. Of course. Of course.

But the words stick in his throat- he opens his mouth, and the words stick there, on the tip of his tongue, not coming out.

Narcissa and Amycus had met in their teens. He was the first real friend she had and they had bonded over terrible fathers and overall unhappiness. To say that she loved the man would be a lie - not in the way a woman was supposed to love her fiance - but in their own twisted way. They needed each other to fill the void. And the sex more than made up for what they lacked in heart.

Her eyes traveled over her cousin once more. Now that the initial shock was gone, she could take in more. No ring, so woman yet. He looked good, handsome even, clearly the Black genes served him well. “How have you been?”

Regulus doesn’t remember him. He doesn’t think they’d ever met each other. He doesn’t think he even knows the name (not the one Narcissa means, anyway). But...

Amycus- no. No. Now... that he thinks back- hadn’t Cissa mentioned him, before? Hadn’t she talked about him, just once- maybe twice, a mention in a sentence that was gone as fast as it came. He remembers being fairly curious, remembers putting it out of mind. But they had never met. They had never... met.

There’s a cold feeling, in the pit of his stomach. A cold feeling that isn’t going away.

How rare was a name like that. A name like Amycus.

“I’m well,” he responds, automatically, and takes the chance to cut off that train of thought there and then.

Is he well? Regulus doesn’t know, in all honesty. He’s thriving- or, at least, the business is thriving. He knows he shouldn’t talk about something like the business with Cissa. A long time ago, this might have been the point where he bit his lip and started a confessional. He might have talked about school. About ‘life’. About his friends. But he’s not in school any more. His life is the business. And friends... he can’t remember how long it was since he talked to one.

Maybe, Regulus thinks, suddenly wry- he might have told her about how the Plan was going- a rather too secretive nickname between them for how he was going to go to Uni and cut off his ties with the family- he’d even had a whole scheme for how he was going to devolve all the power until he could just up and leave (it was fun to pretend, though at the time he hadn’t thought of it as pretending). Now of course... things are different.

“Not much has been happening, but I’m doing well,” he says, to fill in the gap of silence, and then adds, “How are you?”

And a moment later, because there’s still a nagging feeling inside him, he asks, hesitating, covering up the hesitation with idle curiousity- “Have you settled on a marriage date?”

As had become habit when she was nervous, Narcissa twisted her engagement ring between her fingers. “You look good,” she finally managed slowly, “it is good to see you again.” While she knew Regulus had stayed away to preserve her reputation and not worry her career, Narcissa couldn’t help but feel that he had abandoned her as well. After all, that was all she knew, wasn’t it? 

She looks beautiful, he thinks, and it’s the only thought that sticks. Like she’s... grown up, and maybe so has he, and suddenly he does not know if they can even be cousins any more, if they even know each other like this. He reminds himself a moment after that they have not been cousins for years already- that it might as well be that they are strangers.

Funny that- they had all left. Sirius. Narcissa. Andromeda. Even Bellatrix. Regulus was the only one left.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice is steadier than what he feels, steadier than how it maybe should be. It’s good to see you again. He knows she doesn’t mean it, he looks at Narcissa and he can’t blame her. He should leave now, maybe, invent some excuse and say ‘I have somewhere to be, maybe we’ll see each other again’ and it would be a lie, and both of them would know it.

At the slight motion, his gaze flickers to the ring on her hand- he had not seen it, not until she inadvertently drew attention to the thing, and surprise briefly sparks in his mind- a quiet, helpless sort of surprise that isn’t really surprise at all. A ring. An engagement ring. So many years, and so many things have changed. It’s not unexpected, he tells himself, and swallows back the grittiness on his tongue, and it’s rough on the sandpaper that feels like his throat.

“You’re... engaged.” It’s almost a question, almost a statement. Almost just something to fill in the silence, the blank drawn in his mind. A smile flickers onto his lips, and Regulus isn’t sure if its real or not as he adds, “Congratulations.”

Narcissa scowled down at the paper, scratching the note she had just written. “Focus, Black.” she muttered to herself before writing something else. She looked up, wanting to take a sip of coffee but the figure heading her way made her froze. Regulus. She hadn’t seen her cousin in years and, if she had to be completely honest, feared him now more than ever.

But part of that is a lie, he knows the exact date he had left her life for good, the evening they had parted with a fond ‘I’ll see you’ and he had not seen her again.

He still kept up to date on her affairs, of course he did- just... not through the usual channels of social interaction and talk. He checked up on her, enough to be aware she was doing alright, and didn’t let himself go any further looking and prying into a life that he was no longer a part of. And now... mabe this is fate. Or just coincidence. He’s torn between going up to her, sitting in the chair opposite and making whatever conversation he can- or simply leaving, coffee in hand, nothing left but to think back on it later at night and wish he had at least tried.

When he does approach her, he approaches her out of- nothing more than curiousity (also a lie: quiet longing, less than quiet)- and just a glance, he thinks, persuades himself. Just a moment, she won’t even notice him, he’ll sit at the back, and nobody will ever be the wiser. And that... goes out of the window when she looks up from her papers and her gaze fixes on him.

A moment of hesitation, and then he’s in front of her, pretends to himself that the gaze she looks at him with is not one of apprehension or fear, that nothing is wrong.

May I sit here? He almost asks, and does not, almost laughs at himself for the incredulity of it all- as if he is a stranger and he does not know her, and there are no other seats free. The former might be true, he considers. (besides, if he asked, would she even say yes?)

“Narcissa,” he says, softly, and his eyes don’t leave hers when he sits, every movement slow, as if some of this is surreal, as if he’s being careful, gauging her reaction to him.

Evan had been going over some of the more recent Rosier estate purchases, more out of boredom than necessity, the glass of whiskey in front of him keeping him more than comfortable in the quiet atmosphere of the exclusive club. Exclusive, however, did no longer mean private and so the entry of someone drew his attention. The smile was an easy reflex as he called out to greet them. “You know, I had a feeling this place was losing its reputation but if they’re letting people like you in, I might have to look into changing clubs sooner.”

“You want a donut? I know…I know. Totally stereotypical of me. But I WANT one, need to boost my sugar intake around this time and get a coffee. What are you doing up this late? Up to no good?” he was teasing, though with James he always spoke in a way that clearly meant he wasn’t entirely playing around. As an officer who worked mostly nights he found himself always needing to be on alert. Even when making coffee in a gas stop– but that didn’t stop James’ personality to seep through and make everyone around him some how lured to his side. He was always seen buying the homeless treats, and making them sandwiches. The nice guy vibe unavoidable. 

“Come on– my treat. Speak up so people can hear ya! What do you want?”

He’s not entirely awake- not after having been up for the past thirty hours. In fact, he’s slept for two hours in the past three days. It’s maybe an easy decision- and one made with a little relief, that he doesn’t need to keep up the alertness here. On the other hand, at the first instant of that thought most of his guard just goes away. The sheer tiredness creeping in can only really combated by unconscious overcompensation.

Regulus stares at the donut display, having already forgotten to question the man’s intentions by buying him a donut. As a matter of fact, the donut display feels too bright to look at. He firmly keeps his gaze fixed on it and away from the sherbet lemons in the sweets section.

“Sugar donut,” he mumbles eventually, a little indecisive. But also very certain. The green one with sparkles doesn’t seem natural. Too neon.

But. It was sparkly.

And there is- he notices quite suddenly- a purple one. Which is even less natural. But it has  sprinkles too.

He pauses, torn.