There are lessons to be learned
Consequences for all the stupid things I say
Art's mouth went dry when the owl arrived with Fitz's handwriting, clearly, on the envelope. He stopped what he was doing in the sitting room, opened the letter, shooed the Ministry owl off. He read it once, twice. First string was good. First string was great. He shouldn't feel weird about this just because he wasn't captain - but he felt weird about it because he wasn't captain.
It wasn't until after he read it for the second time that Arthur thought of his wife. Desdemona had not told him she was trying out until she showed up at tryouts - Arthur didn't know if that counted in his favor or not. Art tucked the letter into the pocket of his trousers and went to find her; the Pettigrew residence was pretty small, so it was only a few yards to the dining room.
Her eyes scanned over the letter for the third time. Its words were not surprising and...not as disappointing as she had expected them to feel. She felt embarrassed for having placed herself in this situation, of course, but she was largely at peace with it. After all...
Arthur's arrival interrupted her thoughts, though she could not tell from his expression whether or not his efforts had been successful. Frankly, Desdemona would have been incredibly surprised if he wasn't on the team—after all, Fitzroy Prewett had been among those making the decision!
"Well?" she asked with a brightness that was perhaps a little forced. "Will I be cheering you on in the World Cup?"
Her question answered the one he hadn't voiced aloud.
So that was that then. Arthur half-smiled sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what to do with Dezzie in this instant - other than her voice being too bright, too sharp around the edges, they might as well have been talking about anything at all.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, reaching out a hand—the one still holding her letter—and awkwardly rubbing his arm (again, holding letter). "Still," Dezzie added wryly, "you'll get less blame if the British performance is the same it was last time the Cup was in Irvingly."
Should she tell him the whole truth now, or was it better to wait, she wondered?
Despite the letter, it was soothing to have Dezzie's hand on his arm. Art smiled at her. "I suppose you're right on that," he said, in the same wry tone.
"I'm—I'm not surprised that I did not make the team, but I do believe it is for the best," Desdemona began. She hadn't planned on telling him until it was actually happening and now it had gone too far for her to backtrack. She was beginning to blush.
"As you know, a woman has...cycles of fertility—" did he actually know? "—and a step in mine has been...delayed, leading me to believe I might be expecting once again."
So much for the rather disturbing-looking prophylactic the pair employed.
"Oh!" Art said, enthused. He was more measured a moment later: "That's exciting. Right?"
Last time, Desdemona had been pissed. Hopefully this time she would be more excited - or at least less angry - but he should definitely look into investing in a (new, different, better) condom.
In truth, Desdemona wasn't quite sure how she felt. True, she did not feel the crushing sense of defeat buffeting her like he had the last time—a pregnancy she had not wished for that she had believed herself safe from, one that would end her career forever. Even so, it was all still too new for her to have formed any solid opinion on the matter.
That was a much better reaction than last time. 'Not bad' was miles better than furious, and maybe by the time the baby came around they could upgrade that into genuine interest. Arthur wrapped his arms around his wife in a quick, tight hug.