27th May, 1891 — Just outside the Kirke flat, Bartonburg

Not two weeks into being married, Tybalt was still basking in the novelty of it. He was – tired, because there had been a lot of change and the associated stress of having a pregnant wife all of a sudden, and he was trying to keep up with work and although he was very much happy about all this, his sleeping habits had been a little impeded by Elsie’s bouts of morning sickness. In spite of that, seeing her at the end of the day was easily the best part of it, and Tybalt, leaving the Ministry at a much faster clip now that he had a place to be, sometimes even made it home before Elsie did from the library.

He must have been a little too early today, though, because there was someone lurking on the street outside their Bartonburg building, which must mean Elsie was not home yet either. “Oi,” he exclaimed, his mouth setting in a stubborn line at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?” Attempting to stop by to visit his cousin, presumably – but Tybalt wasn’t feeling generous enough towards Sebastian Beauregard right now to give him the benefit of any doubt; not when his first instinct here was to grab him by the scruff of his shirt and sock him one in the face.

Because he’d heard exactly what Sebastian had said to Elsie when he had visited her last week, and Elsie might have forgiven the initial questioning thereafter, but he had not. He’d expected Lucinda Cavanaugh to be angry and terrible about all this, but – how long had Sebastian known him through Hogwarts? And was that really what he thought?

---

Ever since he'd left Elsie's flat — the Kirke's flat — Sebastian had felt horrible about what he'd said. It'd been completely out of line, and — frankly, completely out of character for something like that to come out of his mouth. Of course, just when he'd made plans to make it up to her (likely make it up to both of them, given the fact that Kirke was bound to hear what he'd said from Elsie), work became positively slammed, and Sebastian barely had time to think. It didn't help that a lot of his shifts were night shifts.

Not only was he forced to sit and think about what he'd said, but there was little he could do about it other than think about ways to make it up. In the end, he'd settled on one of the things he knew he and Elsie had in common: books. He'd managed to find multiple children's books and a few first editions of her favorite books. For Tyb, he'd gotten him a bottle of whiskey and...a first edition book. Even walking to their flat Sebastian was berating himself for both the lack of finesse in gifts and the fact that he had to open his mouth like that.

He stood outside, merely mustering up the energy to face the two of them when he heard a sharp call, and he raised his head to see Kirke stalking toward him. Well, the man did not look happy. And frankly, Seb didn't blame him for it. But he didn't shrink as Kirke approached him. He raised the parcels by way of explanation. "Dropping these off." he said, setting his jaw. "For you and Elsie."

---

Sebastian was here with parcels that were probably presents, and Tyb refused to let the spark of curiosity at what they could be get the better of him, because he wasn’t going to invite Elsie’s cousin in for tea and cake and gift exchanges when he’d said all he’d said. And maybe he’d said it without thinking – or out of protectiveness for Elsie – which Tybalt understood; but it still spoke to how little faith Sebastian had in him, to an unnaturally insulting degree, and he wasn’t ready to stop seething about it yet.

“And if we don’t want anything from you, what are you going to do, are you going to force them on us?” Tyb shot back in a surly tone, with a dark look to match. He folded his arms in front of him to express that he was not going to be taken in by Sebastian Beauregard and his stupid peace offerings just like that.

---

Well, he'd expected that. It still didn't make the burn of shame that had risen in his chest any more bearable. But Sebastian, despite his predilection for avoiding confrontation, didn't blink as he tossed back steadily: "Not if you don't want them." It wasn't as if he'd had that answer in his pocket, but he still held some lingering annoyance for Kirke.

As soon as he said it though, he immediately regretted it, and realized how it might have looked. He'd apologized properly to Elsie and yet hadn't done so to Kirke. In fairness, the presents likely came off as a bribe as opposed to a real apology. But for all his wanting to apologize, Sebastian didn't exactly speak any language that Kirke did. Not any that he could afford, at least. Sure, a new broom might have smoothed things over instead, but he was not made of money. And patching things up over a drink was not in Sebastian's taste either. At least for a conversation like this.

Sebastian observed Kirke warily, his jaw set and his body tense.

---

Tybalt ignored the presents and the fact that he was curious about them, because this was not about practicalities, it was about principles, and it was about what Sebastian had said to Elsie in a way that was so thoughtless and unmeditated that it was clear that Sebastian just generally didn’t think any better of him as person than that. Probably hadn’t ever.

No, Tyb was always just a bad influence and the reason for Elsie’s flirting with ruin and the person who had led her astray with no regard for her dignity or without giving her a chance to say no to any of it, apparently.

And Beauregard’s tone was even but his stance not sheepish in the least, so he probably still secretly thought it, whatever he had said to convince Elsie of his remorse afterwards. And it wasn’t like Tyb expected anyone to think he was great, or anything, particularly not her family now, but he had hoped they thought him a half-decent human being. “You know what I want?” Tybalt retorted, stepping closer – maybe just to goad him, he wasn’t sure – “I want you to tell me what you really bloody think of me. Say it to my face this time, why don’t you?”

---

Sebastian wasn't a violent person - had never been, anyone in his family could attest to that. Hell, it was the very core of his career to do no harm, but Kirke's goading seemed to push him further, and a ghost of a scowl could be seen appearing on what was a carefully neutral expression. Most of all this mess was because he had dug himself into it, and clearly the hole was only being dug deeper and he was entirely clueless as to who had control of the godforsaken shovel.

Well, if he wasn't in bloody control of it, then so be it.

"I think you don't think, Kirke." He snapped, wanting to forget what was in his hands entirely. Perhaps not to use his hands against Kirke, but to at least give the sense of more freedom. "You were careless, to have let this happen, and to have brought this upon Elsie." What was their break for if he hadn't thought seriously about their relationship — again, the relationship that Elsie would remind him he had absolutely no business being in. But here they were and here Kirke was asking to know what he thought. Of course he thought Elsie - and, begrudgingly so, Kirke - would be wonderful parents, but the timing of it all was less than ideal for everyone involved. And Elsie herself had said she wished it hadn't been so rushed.

"And quite frankly, I'm insulted you didn't think to ask for help with any of it. This marriage is between you and Elsie, and I know that now —" Sebastian paused here, meeting the other man's gaze steadily. "Trust me," (Of course Kirke had absolutely no reason to trust him ever again.) "She made quite sure that I was not to be involved in any of it and that I was to either be happy for both of you or to leave." Nevermind the fact that Kirke was likely to have wished he'd chosen to leave. But Elsie's comment had stuck with him. Sebastian knew that she didn't know the fear that had taken hold of him once he'd let it absorb. That if he wasn't happy for her, there would be no other refuge for him anywhere else if the world came to know his true nature. Elsie had always been his only hope of an inkling of acceptance. For if he didn't have his friendship with Elsie, who would accept him anywhere else? He quickly brushed that invisible, crippling thought away with a wave of his hand. "But what do you think would happen if you came to me for help at all? That I would reject you both?"

Of course all of this was rendered completely moot by his comment that had quite frankly soiled the mood for everyone around. No one could be more sorry about this than Sebastian himself, but he let his words hang in the air, watching warily for any sign of reaction from Kirke.

---

Oh. Oh, no. The longer Sebastian Beauregard talked, the more Tyb’s burgeoning frustration bubbled up in him, a mix of exasperation and anger and resentment that Sebastian, maybe accurately, knew the way the situation had unfolded was Tyb’s fault. And really, the first remark should have made Tyb listen to it all in clear-headed spite, but after I think you don’t think, Kirke, most of it was admittedly white noise in his head.

There was some flutter of satisfaction at Elsie’s response that he only half-paid attention to in himself, and some measure of guilt that he maybe hadn’t thought of ever approaching Sebastian to make the situation easier – and some kind of painful realisation that Tyb would really rather the two of them be friends, the easy way it had used to be with Sebastian Beauregard when they were just classmates in the Gryffindor common room.

But then Tyb heard the word insulted, as in Sebastian Beauregard thought he was the one who had a right to be insulted, and Tybalt snapped. He pulled back his arm, in some old echo of his beater days – and though he didn’t have a bat in hand, his fist would do for one swing. With all his weight behind it, he aimed for Beauregard’s face – his fist connected, and –

“AH, damn it—” Tyb said, his exclamation devolving into a jumble of curses as he shook his hand out in shock, and then was forced to cradle it at the unexpected spark of pain. Alright, so maybe he didn’t have much experience in fights like this – on the ground, no bludgers in sight, no wands to duel with – but surely he had known how to throw a punch? Was there really that much technique to that? Wasn’t it supposed to be easy; wasn’t the victim of the punch supposed to be one who faced injury?

His gaze snapped up at Beauregard again, eyes widened in horror. “Sorry,” Tyb yelped hastily, suddenly awash with apology, “– sorry.”

---

While Sebastian wasn't a violent person, he wasn't exactly stranger to it. Those not privy to the workings of medicine were often surprised to hear that sometimes it could get physically violent in the field, especially if the patient was not entirely in control of their mental faculties. Then there were those whose distress over their loved one's passing caused them to lash out; oftentimes it was Sebastian who was on the receiving end, and he'd been dealt a few too many blows over the past years. It was rare for any sort of violence to come from somewhere other than his profession. Whether he'd been expecting it from Kirke or not, none of this was to say that he was an expert fighter. Once Kirke's fist connected with his jaw, Sebastian staggered backwards, his teeth gnashing together drawing blood as they bit his lip.

Stars danced in his vision as his back foot found purchase on the ground to steady himself. The string of curses coming from Kirke was enough to let Sebastian know a) it was unlikely he had to prepare himself for another punch and b) at least his jaw had done some damage on Kirke's person as well. As a healer, he wasn't the least bit happy with the news, but as Elsie's cousin and well - someone attempting to hold back retaliating having been punched in the face just now, he felt he was allowed at least a little satisfaction that Kirke was suffering as well.

Straightening up, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Sebastian had to fight to keep the urge to seize Kirke by the collar and throw him to the ground. It was only the metallic taste of blood on his tongue that prevented him from giving in. He swiped quickly at his mouth and gritted his teeth. He might as well have split his lip further, and he could feel his tongue swelling. Ignoring Kirke's hurried apologies, Sebastian fixed him with a glare before gathering the blood pooling on his tongue and spitting on the ground to his right. It only marginally helped once he saw that the gifts he'd brought had been throughly coated with a layer of mud. One book had landed in the water.

He had to fight the urge to punch Kirke again, more annoyed that he had managed to destroy a first edition book than the fact that Kirke had just decked him. One deep breath later, Sebastian fixed Kirke with a glare. "You're bloody awful at punching." He snapped, holding his hand out to the other man and taking his wand out. While it wasn't exactly a lie, Sebastian had been thoroughly leveled by someone who had performed the exact same move on him. At least that moment had prepared him more for this next one. "Give me your hand." He flicked his fingers impatiently.

---

Well, there was only the slightest sting of satisfaction in seeing him stagger backwards, and in the bead of blood on his lip, because a) Tyb maybe hadn’t actually meant to get violent after all, and regretted it and b) he certainly wouldn’t have tried if he’d known Sebastian Beauregard’s jawline was made of rock. Jesus.

Tyb had recoiled slightly, post-punch, but was still half-ready to counter if Beauregard came at him back – but he’d just given him a patronising glare, which did the job of putting Tyb in his place. When he followed Beauregard’s gaze to the discarded gift, he even felt appropriately sheepish.

Tybalt might have glared back if he’d had more of a leg to stand on, so he merely narrowed his eyes a little and then considered the instruction with evident suspicion. Beauregard was beckoning for his hand – his injured fist, presumably – but Tyb had a brother and plenty of friends who wouldn’t have let the opportunity slide to catch him unawares and do some more damage, in jest or otherwise.

Sebastian did not seem like the sort of person inclined to jesting. Warily, Tyb extended the fist he was cradling, but stopped short of actually offering it to Beauregard. “It’s my wand hand, I need it –” he protested, to say go easy on me, in case Sebastian was pondering some gruesome way to break all his fingers in vengeance to teach him a lesson, “I have to cast spells in duels for my job.” And if he couldn’t run duelling tournaments, he wouldn’t have the money to provide for Elsie and the baby, so really it was in Sebastian’s best interests not to mess him up too much.

---

Against his better judgement, Sebastian snorted derisively, taking another step towards the hesitant Kirke and grabbing his wrist. "Well then you should have cursed me instead of punching me, shouldn't you have?" Sebastian knew he'd deserved that punch to the face; he'd insulted not only Kirke's honor - his moral character, but his cousin's ability to make good judgements in her life. Really he was damn lucky Kirke (to Sebastian's knowledge) didn't know how to operate a shotgun and demand a duel. Given that he was from a muggle family, it was likely he actually did and Sebastian had really escaped being forced into a duel by the skin of his teeth. But that didn't stop him from making another snarky comment after the fact. "We both know you'd likely win out in that fight too —"

He'd barely raised his wand to rap on Kirke's knuckles when a movement out of the corner of his eyes made him look up. Ah. Well, this wasn't good. The slight smirk that was on his face at his previous snarky comment dropped immediately and Sebastian's mouth popped open slightly as he was hit for a second time in the span of a few minutes - not physically, but by the look of sheer fury in Elsie's face. She may have been smaller than both of them, but he knew a look that promised violence if they didn't heed her command then and there.

Sebastian dropped Kirke's wrist as if he'd been scalded, secretly praying Elsie had seen that he hadn't been about to retaliate against her husband. If she hadn't, then he was well and truly screwed. But if he'd learned anything from any of this, it was to trust in her judgement; that didn't stop him from glancing warily at Kirke as he wordlessly followed his cousin into the house.

---

Tybalt narrowed his eyes and was very prepared to get out his wand and hex Sebastian, because he’d picked up some good ideas for creative jinxes that would show him, if the punch hadn’t. He wasn’t sure if using magic just hadn’t crossed his mind in the moment or Tyb had thought and then discarded it because it would not be satisfying enough. There was just something about physical violence, the crunch of it, that was best done the muggle way.

He said, as an inexperienced brawler, now dependent on the goodwill and stolid nature of Elsie’s cousin to fix him up. And if he didn’t, then this would just be yet another thing for Tyb to be sore about—

Oh dear. Look who’d caught wind of this, Tyb thought to himself, defiance rising in his throat at much the same moment the bottom of his stomach dropped out. He could guess Elsie’s stance on physical violence, but if she raised her voice – or worse, cried – they were in trouble.

Tyb stalked after her in silent concession, if only because the last thing their very-new-marriage needed was for someone to catch her chastising them in the street. (He could have probably said the same about fighting with her family, but, uh, the thought had come too late.) Still, as they went in he shot Beauregard a grimaced face back, half in resentment and half in... solidarity, apparently.

“Before you say anything, we were settling it,” he began, once they were all in, in case that helped. This was between him and Sebastian. Elsie didn’t need to get involved. In fact, it would be nicer if she didn’t.

---

Had her back still been turned, Sebastian would have reached out and given Kirke a thwack upside the head after his comment. Clearly, Elsie saw they were about to settle it yet they hardly seemed to matter, did it? Sebastian closed his eyes, willing for the headache that was threatening to overtake him keep at bay. And yet for all that he wanted to hiss at Kirke to be quiet, when Elsie rounded on him, all he could come up with was to exclaim how Kirke had hit him first.

He already knew how that would turn out, and so he kept his mouth shut - which promptly popped open as she issued her decree that Sebastian would no longer be welcome.

His stomach dropped even further to the floor, eyes widening in horror as his gaze flicked to Kirke. It was just as well, seeing as Elsie dealt him about as much ire as she had done for Sebastian. Though this made it slightly better, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to complain that his punishment was far worse than her husband’s.

Again, not the point.

But were they to just simply resolve the problem here and now??

Sebastian looked to Kirke again, then to Elsie, then back to Kirke as her words hung between the three of them. Finally, Sebastian pressed his lips together and held out his hand wordlessly to Kirke.

---

Tyb flinched at the force of Elsie’s reaction to that. Things had been rather up and down recently, between the elopement and her pregnancy – it was an emotional time – but this seemed exaggerated even when considering that.

And Tyb had seen Elsie worried and upset and even mad before, but he couldn’t remember a time wherein it had ever been quite so trained upon him. He could have protested that they were supposed to be partners in this, equals, and she oughtn’t be yelling at him like she was his mother; but, perhaps sensibly, Tybalt held his tongue. He chewed over his own rancour in silence.

It was worse that Sebastian was here to witness this, with her threat of kicking him out of bed and all. He thought Elsie generally slept better beside him (he knew he did with her), but this didn’t seem the time to point that out. So, what? He was going to have to suck it up, wasn’t he?

He had been resolutely ignoring Beauregard during Elsie’s little tirade – and if this was her angry, he had no plans to incite this from her again – but now he reluctantly turned back towards him, a little annoyed that Sebastian had offered his hand first. (Elsie would give him the credit for the peacemaking, no doubt.) “My hand,” Tyb muttered in sheepish explanation, as he moved it to shake Sebastian’s but winced and withdrew before he could actually grasp it – Sebastian hadn’t had the chance to heal it yet. Grumbling slightly, he forced himself to utter another apology instead to make up for it. “Yeah – I’m sorry, though.” He glanced at Elsie too. “I am. And I won’t do it again. Happy?” He hadn’t planned to punch Sebastian, and he hadn’t meant to piss off Elsie by it, either.

---