Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect.

Mar 16, 2010 20:53

Having relinquished Tess' bath to Gwen, Regan wandered to her bedroom, then out again, acquiring a canine shadow in the process. She meandered idly downstairs, pausing at the glow of a fire in the library. Her sister had explained, very briefly, that the commotion of the night before had been a function of Jonathan's inheriting his birthright, but had said no more, and Regan had not had a chance to see the Auror for more than a second since he'd returned from the Ministry some hours before.

Quietly, she made her way into the room, Teddy padding in to go sprawl himself on the hearth, and hesitated beside the sofa before joining the still figure that rested upon it. She tucked her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around them, eyes flicking over the unusually haggard-looking man a few feet away, then turning to contemplate the dance of flames in the grate.


He'd heard the sound of Teddy's nails on the marble floor just outside the library door, knowing that either Tess or Regan would be beside the dog. His eyes had been closed, but the sounds of someone sitting next to him on the sofa confirmed that it was Regan. Tess was anything but quiet when she entered a room, and would have happily wrapped herself around his person, whether he'd been sleeping or just pretending to.

Regan seemed content in the silence, but he'd felt the anxiety in her the night before, knew there were queries that she wanted answered. He had several of his own, and despite going to work that morning in an effort to distract himself, he'd had reminders of the events all day. Owls had flooded in, businesses his father had a stock in sending their condolences and assuring his son that he would be as valued as Jason Savage had been. Friends of the family that Jonathan had no way to actually know were friend or foe had sent flowers and other things of comfort.

He'd had them all sent to the tea room, instructing the owlery not to even bring them up after a time. He didn't want to see them and be reminded of what had changed.

All of this still seemed a bit unreal. He hadn't seen his father's body yet, hadn't confirmed that the man was dead, though he knew it to be true. The Savage family magic wouldn't have been done prematurely, a magic too old to fool even if someone had tried.

That he still didn't know if his mother shared his father's fate pulled at him, but until he'd seen them both cold and hard in death, part of him still wondered if this was real.

"You have questions," he said quietly, eyes finally opening to stare at the flames in the grate, knowing he should feel their warmth but too numb from the day and the previous night to actually absorb the heat.

"They are not overly pressing," Regan countered, voice equally soft. She had no idea how to go about offering comfort to this man, about whom she'd been so conflicted the entire time she'd known of his existence, nor even why she wished to do so, only that she did. Peppering him with questions while he was obviously still coping with an unexpected death was not the way to go about it, though, she was sure, and in the end none of what she wanted to know on an intellectual scale mattered, anyway.

Her gaze still tracking the rise and fall of one shred of blue, she let live a thought which had occurred to her the night before, as she'd petted Tess back to sleep upstairs. "We're all of us orphans, though technically Gwen and I have family alive."

"Last night didn't make me an orphan. I was an orphan at age nineteen, when I turned my back on my father and told him I was going to become an Auror, regardless of his wishes for my future. Last night was a shock because I thought I'd been disowned, disinherited. I didn't expect to gain the load I have," he said, weariness in his words as he spoke, "and it is a heavy thing."

"Blood magic does not bend to the whims of men," Regan observed. "Nor does the fact of my mother's continued existence make me else than one; as I was at twelve when my father was killed and she left me alone in our family estate. Nor Gwen's parents who pretend she was never born."

He had an uncanny ability to agitate her regardless of circumstance, and Regan shifted from her curl despite herself, crawling across the empty cushion to insinuate herself in his personal space, leaning into his side as Tess would have.

Jonathan did not question her closeness, thinking to the previous night and the kiss she'd placed at his temple before leaving. He wasn't sure when she'd begun to give him comfort, or when he'd begun to accept it, but there were a lot of things that had happened in the last few months that he hadn't expected or planned for.

He lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders like he'd wrap it around Tess'. "The rift with my parents does not cause me pain to think about, though the idea of taking the spot my father once thrived in does."

"Not a pleasant sort of person?" Regan surmised, not really looking for an answer. Something about his phrasing puzzled her, though, and she asked, eyes darting up to his face, "Why need you? It was obviously not expected on either part, if you were meant to forfeit the line."

"It's... complicated," he said after a few quiet moments of trying to figure out a way to explain what paths he'd have to walk now that he was the head of the family. He was the forgotten son before, the exile who had suddenly shown up on the arm of Gwenog Jones, darling of Wizarding society and celebrity in her own right. The scene with Tess in the Ministry had outed them as a couple more than just a fling, and adding Tess into the mix had made things infinitely more fragile.

The fact that he was now the head of his bloodline would only prove more problematic. The role he would need to play was more taxing, but if it would keep Tess away from prying eyes and ears, then it would be worth it. "With great power comes great responsibility," he quoted, not really remembering which muggle movie it had come from, but remembering the words because they'd stuck with him as particularly apt.

"Not Shakespeare," she reported, letting the question and his evasion of answer lie, for the time being. The quote escaped her, having been mentally checked against her internal database of literature, and she tried to think up something he'd have been likely to read that she would not know.

"Never particularly liked the Bard myself, but I don't think so." The truth was that Jonathan wasn't sure what his new role would have him playing. The uncertainty of it was not something he enjoyed. He was in a place where not knowing what was coming next did not sit well in his stomach, not when he no longer only had to worry about himself. He'd stopped fighting his desire to be with Gwen months ago, when it became clear that pushing against it was futile. He was suddenly very aware that by allowing himself open to one, he'd opened himself to more. He didn't only care about Gwen, but also about Tess, and the blond pressed against his side. He cared as Gwen cared, because they were Gwen's, and because, in a way, they'd become his too.

He'd never been particularly possessive, finding it an appalling trait of most of the people in his house, but for the first time, he was able to understand it.

"I do not fear becoming my father. I am not him." The words were truth. The reason he'd left was because he would never be what his father had wanted him to be; another version of Jason Savage. "I do, however, fear that parts of his life are inevitably to become parts of mine."

Regan huffed softly at Jonathan's dismissal of some of her favorite works, but settled as he spoke again, offering eventually, "You are older than Gwen is; you have been an Auror longer than you have considered yourself a member of your father's family. I would not think such things to be so easily put by, even for such a change. You shall manage."

Silently, she included that Gwen would not let him do else, should he stay; Tess loved him, and she belonged to Gwen. Nothing would ever endanger that child without incurring a wrath too fearsome to contemplate readily.

"You have that faith in me?" he asked, eyes still on the fire in the grate, Teddy curled in front of the warmth, dark eyes looking at the pair on the sofa as if partially amused.

Stilled by the question, and wondering how much her answer might matter to him, Regan said pointedly, "I think you value Gwen, and now Tess, enough to do no less than you must. You shall manage, or give up more than I think you would be willing to. Gwen does not love your father."

"And I do not only value Gwen and Tess," he responded, knowing that it was a statement she might not enjoy hearing, but he'd needed it to be said all the same.

"I have learnt not to assume things," Regan murmured, torn between wishing he'd not made a point of her omission of herself and being pleased that he had. She had learned as much, painfully, and though she did not particularly fear betrayal at Jonathan's hand, it was her wont to be more cautious with her affection elsewhere.

Jonathan nodded, hearing the slight hesitation in her voice. "It is a lesson all of us must learn, but you'll also learn that some people will do everything they can not to disappoint, not to harm. You might not believe it at first, you might fight against it, but it's as true as the pain others have caused."

Regan had nothing to say to his outrush of wisdom, and lay with her head at his shoulder in silence for several minutes. Unbidden, the thought entered her head and departed her lips before she'd considered it fully, "I think you are too like Joscelin for my brother to like you."

"I'm not sure whether I should take that as a compliment or not." He knew that Regan liked Gwen's brother, and Jonathan had to agree that the could relate to parts of the Gryffindor that he saw also in himself. It was surprising to find out that Regan's brother hadn't liked Gwen's. "Depends on how you see me like him."

"You aren't quite so deliberate about it as he is, but there are days where Gwen wants to hex you as much as anything else; it's what she would describe as 'being an ass'. You... play... somewhat the way he does," Regan explained. Joscelin had other qualities that she knew irritated her brother, which were attributed to the fact that the elder Jones had been a Gryffindor in school and embodied many of the less desirable traits of that house.

She was quite fond of the big, jovial man in spite, and Jonathan was at least quieter about most of the 'faults' that Tristan found most annoying in other people, but she could not quite see them getting on well, or not right away, nevermind his really enjoying the Auror's company.

"It's more because it means that the whole of her attention is turned on me, which I'm sure is not the draw for her brother," Jonathan said, the first ghost of a smile lighting his face for the entirety of the day.

"No, he just enjoys making her riled, but the end effect is rather similar. Bishop too. We'd not seen so much of him before..." She frowned, correcting after a moment, "Tristan does not know much of Bishop, or Dora."

"If he wants to be a part of the family, I'm sure he'll discover them at some point. Though I don't think anyone can really be prepared for Bishop." A phantom pain of the right hook of the hit wizard had Jonathan tightening his jaw, thinking that he hoped he never had to the outlet of rage for Gwen's brother again. One, because it had hurt, and two, because he hoped a reason to be such never arose.

Quashing the urge to shove away from Jonathan, knowing he'd not intended what his words had said to her, Regan was quiet for longer than was necessary, and finally said simply, "He doesn't."

Jonathan understood, as much as he was able to. He'd been told what Gwen had seen in their future before it had been destroyed. He knew why it would be hard to be around Gwen, see her happy in the arms of another. However, he knew that Gwen hoped for something more than just acquaintance. She had built her family, and had imagined him a part of it. He didn't think that had changed for her.

He wasn't sure what to say to Regan, so he said nothing, just turned his head to rest his chin on her hair and stare into the fire.

Curious, though she hated to ask, hated that she needed to ask, Regan ventured softly, "Am I allowed to do this even when there isn't some crisis warranting it?"

It still bothered her that she enjoyed being enveloped in his warm presence as much as she did, but it was still true, and different than when she curled into Gwen in the same way. It was what she missed so much when she was with her brother and yet not with him, but their visits were yet so strained that she could not bring herself to bridge the chasm between them.

"You'll hear no complaints from me," Jonathan answered truthfully. He'd never needed to touch someone for comfort before, never felt the pull of feeling skin on skin, until he'd met Gwen and found the calm that could come with the slide of flesh against his. It was different with Regan, but much the same. "I can't promise crisis will not call for it again in the future, but I would if I were able."

Regan nodded, content enough with his answer. Jonathan wasn't a big man; she wouldn't fit completely in his lap if she tried, not like with Tristan, but it didn't matter. It was enough that he didn't mind sheltering her from the world for a bit, that she had somehow also settled under the aegis of belonging that extended to her sister and Tess. "I suppose I cannot promise to steer clear of Weasleys, either, but Fred is happily married, and Jack is eight."

"We can't control who we love," Jonathan murmured, shifting so his cheek was pressed against the soft crown of her head. He did not want to assume that Regan had loved Percy Weasley, but the heartbreak she'd felt at his dismissal had been as true as he'd known, enough that thoughts of the man's broken body had flashed through his mind whenever he thought of the pain in her eyes on that night.

It felt odd, the talk of love from his lips. He'd never truly felt the emotion, not that he had ever been able to point to and define, but he knew the words to be true despite their unfamiliarity. You couldn't choose who you loved; you could fight against it, rage against the feelings it pulled within you, but when your heart chose, you were unable to keep from the path it called for you.

Starting, with an unpleasant sort of feeling, at the statement, Regan countered immediately, "I ... didn't." She stopped herself from sharing further, not willing to give in to more tears over the incident, and tried to swallow back the queasy upset the mere thought provoked.

Jonathan nodded, "but that doesn't make it hurt any less."

Shaking her head, her face hidden in his shoulder, Regan muttered, muffled, "I don't... I just feel... used." She didn't want to talk about it with him, didn't know why she was, but she wasn't quite willing to leave to get away from it.

Again, Jonathan felt the desire to find this Weasley and tear him apart, bit by ginger bit. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love."

"Love's Labour's," Regan murmured, then added acidly, "More likely; 'I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine.'"

Jonathan let out a sigh. It hard to hear something so cynical pass her lips. She was too young to know the pain she did, and he wished she knew something better than what she'd experienced.

"Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better," he replied.

"Twelfth Night. Also 'If music be the food of love, play on'. One of my favorites." It hurt to think that this past was the first Christmas Tristan had not read it to her. She had tried, on her own, but found the memories too painful to manage.

Nudging Jonathan with her chin, Regan prompted, "You said you did not like his work."

"Not much of what I learned as a child depended on what I liked and what I did not," he confided, grinning softly, realizing that he was able to feel her warmth, as well as the heat from the fire. It was the first time all day he hadn't felt utterly cold and numb. "Tess will be wanting her story and night kisses soon," he said, eyes drawn to the clock on the wall. Her bath had to have ended by now, and it would only be a matter of time before the child emerged in her pajamas, waiting.

Understanding a dismissal, Regan disentangled herself from his grasp, moving to regain her original place on the sofa. He was right; her sisters had been about the evening routine for rather longer than usual already, though with as anxious as Tess had been about the night before, she was not surprised.

Frowning slightly, he'd let her pull herself from his side, watching as she retreated to her original position. He wasn't sure if it was a miscommunication, but so often something he said or did had her withdrawing when moments before they'd been pleasantly conversing. "If it was a story you knew, too, we could each take a character. She likes it when we use voices."

Regan looked up, confusion written in her face. "That's... usually your time with her," she pointed out, having taken his statement to mean that it was time for her to find something else to do with herself.

Jonathan smiled then, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "I could write you an invitation if you'd like, but it'd take longer, and Tess does not have the best patience."

Smiling in spite of herself, thinking of the many pieces of evidence of just that, Regan agreed, "She really doesn't. We are working on her manners about it, however."

"Speaking as a former five-year-old who was taught manners, you're fighting a losing battle."

Rising from the sofa, Regan arched one eyebrow, asserting, "I retain hope; Tess obviously has far more sense than you did at five."

"More than I had at thirty-five," he countered, smirk on his face as he rose as well. He could already hear Tess' feet on the stairs as she flew towards them for her nightly ritual.

Summary: Regan finds Jonathan for an unexpected and unexpectedly cozy chat.

regan, savage

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