18th November, 1888 — Sterling Residence, Bartonburg

Getting married already felt like a terrible decision, like some sort of nightmare festival ride he couldn't get off from, and he'd only been engaged for a few days. But it would get easier, he told himself, once everyone knew, once the dust settled in a month or two. It would. It had to.

Once everyone knew. The family knew, alright, so really that was the worst of it through. Public interest was both far less likely and far less daunting, to be perfectly honest; both he and Miss Tweedy were sheltered most often by the hospital's walls and the never-ending reams of work to do. He always was grateful for work.

But he was not at work now. The weekend had blown away into Sunday evening before he even knew it, and he found himself whiling the last few hours of his evening away at a friend's house. Ben's house. They were friends again. Close friends, like normal. Had been since he'd come back; the familiarity had returned by full measures along with the bulk of Ben's memories, and they had fallen back into a version of before Ari had scarcely dared hope for. He was more cautious now, about feeling anything - or, at least, he meant to be - but he was grateful, too, at how easy it was to be around Ben again like this. An unending relief.

It was just the two of them here, tonight, but as far as Ari could tell, he was the only one even capable of sensing the ghosts of then in this same room, the once-shattered glass and boiling fear and the horror etched into Ben's face. Ben now looked lively and laidback and oblivious; just the way he was meant to.

Ari almost didn't want to ruin it.

But he had to tell his friends sometime, too. "Hey," he said, setting his glass down on the nearest surface to resist the urge to fidget. He looked across at Ben, quirking his mouth into half a grin. "I have something to tell you."

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   Dionisia Fisk

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For the first time in a long time, Ben felt good. He felt normal again. He enjoyed his job, though felt rather grateful that he wasn’t Head Auror. As the weeks since he returned had progressed, he enjoyed the freedom that it had provided - though everyone in the department was exceedingly good at their job, memories that had resurfaced from his previous position had him remembering exactly how many people he’d had to have answer to him, and go answer to.

He’d reconnected with his friends - though his lack of memories had proved it tough to reconnect, at least on his part, he found himself settling into a comfortable routine and the imprint of their long-term friendship had held fast through the fog of his lost memories. Ben has found himself slowly regaining them and, with time, he had started to feel normal again. Whole.

But then there was Ari.

Through it all, Ari had been the one to find him when he was in Scotland. Their friendship had felt shy at first. But where Ben couldn’t remember his past, Ari was there. Constant as the tides to walk him through memory after memory. No matter his questions, barging into Ari’s place unannounced, burdened with a new memory that required explaining. It had been a rough year. In addition to Ari’s help, he’d gained another ally in his quest for the recovery of his memory; his housekeeper, Mrs. Dixon. She had known Ben's family and when he'd taken a house of his own, had gladly come to help him with the housekeeping. She'd taken care of the place fabulously, directing her staff and kept it looking immaculate. When he came back, it was as if it had never been left. He’d rejoined the aurors after having been cleared and after having passed multiple tests to make sure he was competent enough.

Day after day, it got easier and day after day he hadn’t needed to rely on Ari as much for memories. Perhaps occasionally he’d voice a question in the middle of a discussion, but he’d settled back into his former self. Reckless apparently hadn’t worn off and he found himself even more enthusiastic to jump into tasks and missions. He found more pleasure at doing magic. At first, every spell cast gave him a thrill of excitement when he succeeded. Now it was more of a comfort. A reminder that even though he’d forgotten his ability to do it, it had remained constant with him; a reminder of his life before Scotland.

It was Sunday and his life had settled into a healthy rhythm of work and spending time with friends. Tonight he’d taken up the sitting room with Ari for a nice drink after work. After having gotten his frustrations out about work, Ben was lounging in the chair, his feet kicked up and a drink in his hand. He'd gotten a slight headache as he'd welcomed Ari in the sitting room and was currently nursing the headache with the glass in his hand. With a wave of his wand, he made a few more ice cubes dance merrily into his glass.

He was about to raise the freshly cold glass to his temple when Ari spoke, breaking the brief comfortable pause that had engulfed the two. He looked at his friend, raising his eyebrows expectantly. A feeling like nervous, expectant anticipation began to rise in his stomach. "Oh?" he replied, getting up and moving to the drink cart to refill his glass. He could have easily done it with magic, but had settled on doing something with his person to get rid of the sudden and unexplained nervous energy that had descended upon him.

"Don't tell me you've went and gotten yourself into trouble, Ari," he joked. "We both know I've provided enough trouble for a lifetime." He chuckled to himself as he unstoppered the decanter. The auror had a creeping sense of déjà vu, and it didn't sit well with him. He'd been here before...

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“Don’t expect me to argue with that,” Ari answered with a laugh, rather certain Ben would not be offended to be considered trouble. Trouble was a little of an understatement, but even tallying up the extent of it - from having to patch him up time after time to having to re-stitch together all the memories that made him him for him, to the endless trouble of loving him at all - could not make his friendship with Ben ever a burden; Ari had always been willing to help. Ari had brought it all upon himself.

He had brought this upon himself, too. Perhaps Ben's attraction to trouble had rubbed off on him over the years; maybe Ari was really the one with the problem here, because a) if Ben was trouble, b) Ari was still horrendously attracted to him, and c) in general, trying to help people should not, probably, lead to quite so complicated a life as this.

“But no, it's nothing bad,” Ari assured him, though he could presently think of nothing worse. It was only what came from being around Ben, really, a burning in the base of his gut that warped and ate through all other feeling. It had been unbearable once - he had been so desperate to be rid of it - but now he knew better, thought he had learned to live with the flames. Because: no matter how furiously he threw all his doubts on the fire - things that stung of the truth; things like you know he'll never love you; remember last time; do you want him to hate you again? - the flames devoured them like kindling, and only sparked up more wild, irrational, impossible hopes in him. By now Ari didn't know what else he could possibly do. The fire just wouldn't die.

“It’s good news, in fact,” Ari said, eyes trained on Ben but privately rather relieved his friend seemed too preoccupied with refilling his drink to watch him too closely in return. For half a moment, Ari thought Ben looked a little too preoccupied - but Ari was only projecting his own nerves across the room, that was it. It was stupid, to be nervous about this. Ben would - well, he would make fun of him, probably, but he would still take it better than most people had, and just be happy for him. Because it would mean nothing to Ben, would make no difference to his life, because he was clearly not being burnt alive on a daily basis by some ridiculous unrequited love.

At least he didn't remember Ari's confession. He may actually believe the Miss Tweedy thing, this way. “Really good news. I'm - well, I'm getting married.”

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Ben would have preferred Ari cut to the chase. He didn't have a clue as to why he was impeded by such impatience.

Each pause between words stretched out miles before him. Even as he prolonged pouring his drink slowly, the liqueur was getting towards the top quicker than he'd have liked. It was as if each millimeter promised a new level of alcoholism on his part to help remedy the overwhelming sense of dread rising in him. Why did he feel like this was something that Ari had been saving towards the end of the night? When they could say goodbye as quickly as possible?

Before he could figure out an answer, Ari had said it.

It was such a weird feeling, this. It felt as if his stomach had just dropped to his knees, and at the same time, his heart leapt to his throat, wrapping around his windpipe as tight as a vice. For a few, small excruciating seconds Ben couldn't breathe. Why was this his reaction? He didn't have a reason for it. It's not as if Ari was leaving. But....it felt like he was. For the briefest of moments, something like an expression of pain flashed over Ben's face. He wanted to wheel around and yell at Ari. Yell at him for completely blindsiding him. He was getting married. That was something your best friend told you before a proposal was even imminent. You told them while you were courting or hey, at the very least, in love. Yet Ari had done none of these things.

For once, words failed the auror.

But....for all the rage that rose inside, Ben couldn't stay mad at Ari for long. This was Ari for Merlin's sake. Ari, who had healed him time and time again after he was such a prat. Ari, who had found him and brought him back.... didn't he owe this to Ari? Owe him this favor of....being happy for him?

Ben spun around, the drink in his hand sloshing over the sides and completely forgotten. His knuckles were quite white, but the expression on his face was as if someone had turned on a switch. A grin spread across his face and his eyes twinkled. "You're bluffing," he said, the humor in his voice a fairly good imitation of what it would sound like if he was actually finding this to be a funny joke. "Blimey, Ari, I didn't even know you were courting!"

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There, he'd said it. He braced himself for a reaction - any reaction - although rationally he knew there was nothing to worry about; he couldn't even see Ben's face until he turned, nearly splashing out his drink in his abruptness. "Careful," Ari interjected in warning, though Ben seemed to steady himself. (Better that there were no accidents this evening; the last surprising news Ari had sprung had seen a lot of stumbling and shattered glass. He still remembered the blood on Ben's hand.)

And there it was, that teasing disbelief, the sort of thing that should come as an immeasurable relief to him. Ben didn't care, see; if he was annoyed at not being made aware of this possibility earlier, he wasn't showing it. Ari took this, gratefully, as an encouraging sign of forgiveness, something that was... less sure from, well - Zelda, for one.

Believe me, I wish I were bluffing, Ari answered mentally, while he fought to dislodge an inexplicable lump from his throat. This was good; what kind of fool would he be if he somehow felt disappointed? "I'm really not," Ari replied instead, once he'd mustered the willpower to keep up the smile he had lightly plastered to his face. This might be a shock, but there would be far more to answer to if he let the faintest hint of reluctance show.

"To be honest, it all rather snuck up on me, too," Ari admitted with a brief, happy ("happy") chuckle, as though he were still surprised by his luck himself; this was the easiest explanation to deliver, although no one would know just how true it was. Merlin, he was still surprised at himself. Was this really the easiest way to keep his life together (or Miss Tweedy's life, for that matter), truly the sensible precaution?

"I didn't want to tell you until I was... sure," he added, some apology in his eyes now, hoping Ben did forgive him. "But, yes. It's really happening." And damned soon. "Mad, I know." He'd heard enough of the "married to his work" spiel from - well, just about everyone he knew - to know full well that no one would have imagined this outcome.

For his part, Ari had always imagined Ben would be the one getting married. Garrett and Bax too, until he was the only one left - but it had been Ben's marriage that would have hurt the most. He had dreaded the day for at least a decade. So this - this order of things: confounding, in more ways than one.

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He searched Ari's face for some sign - any sign that he'd been joking. Ben couldn't see anything that said he was joking, but there was something else that Ben thought was wrong...something else that didn't seem right. Part of him wanted to rely on his instincts as an Auror, but given the circumstances of the past year or so, he still wasn't sure what the difference was between his instincts given his profession and something that just didn't feel familiar yet. Either way, Ben clung onto that idea that perhaps there was something that maybe Ari wasn't telling him.

It snuck up on him? His brow indented quizzically as he looked down at his best friend. Ben still hadn't taken his seat yet - had forgotten he was still standing; holding his drink, even. "You....you weren't sure?" Only the faintest hint of elevation at the end of his question betrayed his hope that perhaps this was still an ongoing joke, or at the very least, he wasn't getting the full story yet. That could have just been the shock still reverberating about his person like a gong. Ben wasn't sure.

Ben's voice, though still containing a hint of his previous humor, "Mad?" Ben laughed, attempting to keep his tone the same. "I'm sorry, Ari, it might be the liqueur and recent retrograde amnesia, but does how does a marriage and partnership exactly...sneak up....on someone." For all that he tried, it still came out more as a defiant statement than anything. He struggled to comprehend. To understand why he wasn't aware of this sooner, why it was so sudden and most of all, why it seemed like Ari was leaving for good; why their lives seemed to be splitting at the seams when it just had felt like everything was settling back into its normal pace.

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Ben didn't believe it. Ari had known no one would - he had never come close, hadn't even had a near miss at marriage - but there was something in Ben's bemusement, and his furrowed brow, that made him worry. Ben didn't even believe him enough.

Maybe because he'd known more of the truth than most, once. Maybe there was still some imprint of that night in his head somewhere -

But Ari couldn't let that come flooding back. He could not tell the same truth twice over. And that meant he couldn't give even the scarcest hint of it, couldn't deal with too many probing questions. If he explained any of it - Miss Tweedy's pregnancy, that the whole suggestion of marriage was mere convenience - he would only be a hair's breadth from confessing enough to make Ben think.

And they couldn't have that.

So he smiled at Ben, a smile that was almost condescending. “She’s an old family friend. Works at the hospital with me, a mediwitch,” he explained, his tone thoughtful. “When you've known someone a long time - or see them often enough - it's easy not to notice how you feel, until -” Until it got too much to bear. Until it was all you thought about. (Until you were here, telling the man who had your heart shackled to him, utterly unknowingly, about your impending marriage.) Ari offered Ben a soft shrug, trying to be more believable, trying not to be bitter. “So you don't expect anything to change, and then - suddenly, it has.”

“So I wasn't sure, at first. But I am now.” He'd backed himself pretty firmly into this corner, after all - might as well sell it. It felt unnecessary to add, too pointed to be kind, but - “But I suppose - if you haven't felt this way before - you wouldn't understand.”

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It was the smile that did it for him. He’d never seen such a look on his best friend’s face, apart from when Ari was tending to his wounds. And even then, it was a faint ghost of the smile that appeared on Ari’a face now. Ben’s eyes narrowed a fraction of a centimeter. He wasn’t a child, yet it seemed as if Ari was attempting to explain the birds and the bees to an infant.

The words being spoke to him hit too close to home, though. When you’ve known someone a long time.....it’s easy not to notice how you feel, until... His insides recoiled and Ben tipped the glass up to his lips and downed a generous gulp before heading back to his seat.

Why he felt like this was a personal jab, he didn’t know. It hit too close to home and he didn’t know why. As an auror it was his job to know and to speculate, so this feeling didn’t sit well with him any more than the previous few minutes between them; or the sudden heavy weight that had descended upon the room.

He took another swing of his drink, which is when the final blow came. Ben paused, drink still up to his lips. He lowered it, his eyes heavy and glittering with drink, sudden exhaustion and what felt like defeat. ”What,” he intoned huskily, setting the drink down on the glass table in front of him. ”...is that supposed to mean...” He already had a hunch, and like so many other things that had been voiced tonight, he didn’t like it.

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This was... not going as well as anticipated. Everything Ari said seemed to be making things worse, making Ben more annoyed - Ari didn't even like the way he was drinking now, feeling, inexplicably, that there was something cool and defiant in it.

And the last thing he wanted was another argument on his hands - with Ben, of all people. But, if Ben was close to drunk, he wouldn't be able to reason with him... Ari, on the other hand, had had a drink to work up the courage, but had always been careful, since that night, not to get carried away. To keep himself in check.

So he reined himself in, before the aggression could escalate as it had once done when Ari had been trying to tell him something. “Nothing, Ben,” Ari said, feeling a wave of weariness suddenly come over him. “I’m sorry - I didn't mean anything.” It was not as though Ben had ever owed him anything, after all, whatever he didn't feel; how could he blame Ben for not feeling the same? What he owed Ben, if or when the day ever came that it became apparent he'd gone and fallen in love, found some woman of his dreams and had announced that he was going to marry her, was as simple as being happy for him. Being happy for him - without bitterness, without complaint - and being there.

“Listen,” Ari said, standing up in defeat just when it looked like Ben was about to sit down again - “I’m sorry. It's late, I'll go.” He shrugged again, in rue. “I’ve told you what I wanted to, so.”

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There was a pounding at the back of his head that Ben was sure had nothing to do with the alcohol. As Ari stood up, clearly resigned to the subject, his stomach sank. He was being a prat, and he knew it. He should have just left well enough alone and feigned happiness for Ari. The defeat and tiredness was creeping up on him, and the anger that he’d felt rising in him had suddenly disappeared. What was left just felt like a nasty knot in his stomach.

He wanted to be happy for Ari, he really did. But he couldn’t help but feel that this had been sprung upon him without warning. He also couldn’t help but feel like Ari was hiding something from him. Some aspect that didn’t make this story fit into place, and he clung onto that feeling (whether it was his true instincts or his mind making him think he was feeling something he wasn’t).

A voice inside him told him that it was no use pushing Ari to tell him. An even worse one whispered, if he had wanted to tell you, he would have. Would he have, though? His resurface into his past life had left him with various doubts about his relationships, not just with Ari and Bax and Garrett, but with everyone st work as well. He didn’t feel as competent and reliable as he felt he used to be, and that stung.

Ben sighed frustratedly, setting his drink down. ”Maybe you should.” he said, feeling wretched and as if the weight that had descended into the room was now compressing itself onto his person. He hated how this evening had turned out. Hated it. His best friend told him he was getting married and this is how he responded. With coldness and disbelief.

Get a grip, you sack of ungrateful dragon dung.

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