April 8th, 1891 - Chudley Cannons Pitch [Theo's Office]

Cash hadn't slept, and he was pretty certain that he still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and maybe even of gin even though he'd washed up and shaved when he eventually went home. And he was not convinced that he could actually handle practice today, or his life, or the letters he was apparently supposed to write. But he was no longer being tailed by a dementor, and Ford told him he would get the wardrobe out of the muggle inn, so things were looking up at least slightly. Except that he was going to have to talk to Gallivan about this. If he had just skipped practice yesterday, or if he had come up with a real excuse, then he wouldn't have had to have this conversation. Something came up, alright, maybe he could work with that eventually.

He looked a bit of a wreck, despite having shaved; there were shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep and he still felt a little out-of-body just from not having eaten enough. But this was as good as it was going to get today, and if he was going to be here on purpose, try to fix his head and everything else, then he was going to have to talk to Gallivan.

So he broke into the sponsor's office an hour and a half before practice was set to start, before pretty much any of the team was even there, and sat in the chair behind the desk. Cash wished he still had cigarettes in his coat pockets because he wanted to have something to do with his hands, but he didn't.

He supposed that breaking in was probably not a good habit for him to set, but he had already sort of gotten into it, so — Gallivan was going to have to get used to it. And there were even-odds that he did not manage to make it through this conversation without ruining something, so maybe it would not be relevant again.

Maybe he should have brought some sort of breakfast here.

Maybe he should have actually planned to see Gallivan.

Cash was fidgeting with his pocketwatch when the door to Gallivan's office opened. He looked up from his seat like this was normal — maybe this was normal — if he pretended this was normal then maybe he could get away with everything. "Hey," Cash said.

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MJ made this!

He didn’t jump this time, letting himself into his office and finding Lestrange already there. That might have been because Theo had noticed the door was unlocked again and half-expected it; that he was maybe a little too comfortable with the seeker invading his personal space now anyway (- well, hm, obviously -); or simply because he had never really been a morning person, and lacked both the capacity and the inclination to be properly startled by anything for the first hour or two after waking up.

But there was still a twist of surprise in his voice at seeing him. “You’re here.” Here in his office. Here at the pitch very early. Here at all. Lestrange hadn’t written anything after the first letter, so there had been a fair chance he would be back today as normal - but there had been a vagueness to the timeline and a general evasiveness in the note which was worrying, too.

Having tossed his wand, unneeded keys and a paper bag with his lunch in it onto the desk, and instead of starting to get out the account books like he’d planned to this morning, Theo just leant back against a long-ago-season Chudley poster on the wall and looked at him, considering.

He would have asked how he was, but that was apparent enough in a glance. Yesterday he’d told their coach Lestrange was ill - if only because it was the easiest excuse, the least specific, and who even knew what a family emergency might have entailed with people like the Lestranges - but he hadn’t really believed it. After all, if he’d actually been sick, he could have just said so. He didn’t look anywhere near well today, so maybe he had been, but there was also that lingering smell of stale cigarette smoke on him to belie it. But if Theo had wanted to - duck out of work for a day to go be self-destructive somewhere else, he wasn’t sure he’d have bothered to warn anyone in advance about it, either, so... so, he didn’t know.

He’d said there was something to resolve, hadn’t he? And Theo wasn’t sure he should even ask; he was not convinced Lestrange would tell him if he did and he didn’t think he particularly wanted to be lied to. But Lestrange was here now and didn’t just look unwell - frankly, he looked like death warmed over - so Theo could not completely hide the crease of concern between his eyebrows. “Have you - slept?”

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   Cassius Lestrange, Reuben Crouch

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Cash had an impulse to reach for Gallivan's keys so that he had something new to fidget with, but suppressed the thought. He restrained his hands to his pocketwatch and ran his thumb up and down the chain. But Gallivan was leaning against one of the posters on the wall and Gallivan was looking at him, and Cash felt — looked at. He had not been in public since the post office yesterday — (in public in muggle areas did not really count) — and had not really remembered that people would be looking at him, even as he'd gone through the motions of preparing for it.

Also, it was Gallivan. Cash had of course come to his office expecting to see him — hoping to see him — but actually seeing him made it real, and meant that Cash actually was going to have to come up with an excuse for yesterday. He set his watch down on Gallivan's desk but left his hand on it. There was that little knot of concern on the sponsor's face, too, and Cash was left thinking I'm causing that.

"Uhm," Cash said, weighing the benefits and downside of lying. Benefit: maybe it would make the concern on Gallivan's face go away. Downside: he didn't think he looked well-rested enough to get away with lying, and he was not convincing at it in the first place. He half-smiled, trying for levity. "Not exactly."

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MJ made this!

Yeah, of course he hadn’t.

So he shouldn’t even be here, because what good was he going to be at practice later? And now he was trying to make light of it, and Theo wanted to sail through this blithely too, but, much as he tried, he couldn’t quite dislodge the frown.

And who knew whether this, whatever was going on, was something he ought to be more concerned about from a professional standpoint as the Cannons’ sponsor, or as his - friend, or both at once? But in any case Theo had the distinct feeling he should be worried. Or, too late, already: he was worried about this. (Not that his concern was much help - actually it was pretty dire, really - because in recent years Theo had been spectacularly unsuccessful at tackling his own problems, never mind anyone else’s.)

Maybe Lestrange wasn’t going to explain anything about what had happened, or maybe he was, but the question of how to cross that bridge was also fairly useless to him until he’d at least glimpsed it. So. Theo swallowed, trying to find an easier way around than confronting the question head-on. “I said you were ill,” he offered, “yesterday.” With a shrug, he shut his mouth and left the sentence hanging there - a little expectantly, making room for him to elaborate if he was here to; but also hopefully sounding offhand enough, if he wasn’t.

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   Reuben Crouch

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No one was entirely letting him get away with deflecting, in the last day or so. Cash supposed he deserved it — he had either created or spent a lot of time hanging around with a dementor, and he looked it — but he was still distinctly uncomfortable with it. Deflection was one of the best tools he had; he did not know how to navigate conversations like this without falling back on it.

Cash bit down on the inside of his lip, in the same spot where he'd made it bleed yesterday. It did not provide him with any more answers as to what to say. He could not tell the truth, because the truth was — insane and concerning and probably ought to have been actually reported to the Ministry. But he couldn't lie, and not just because he wasn't good at lying — but because he was broken and because if Gallivan wanted to bail out then he ought to give him the option.

So he was left with this, a weird middle ground, and maybe wishing he wasn't sitting at Gallivan's desk chair for this conversation.

"That's not — far off, from the truth," Cash admitted, his gaze settled on Gallivan's hands rather than his face.

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   Reuben Crouch

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MJ made this!

So he had been ill, or something like it. “Okay,” he said, still waiting for more. At least, he thought he was, because he didn’t have enough to go on without it. And maybe his imagination would make things out worse than they were, if left to him - if he let himself slide towards towards considering the myriad ways Lestrange could have been self-destructive.

But no, something came up, something to resolve, he didn’t know. Another hypothesis that had come to him was one he’d quashed in a moment, because the timing was wrong; he knew they were nowhere near a full moon. (The last had been something like two weeks ago. There was no real need to keep track of this anymore, with no one in the house in thrall to it - but it had been habit long enough that he was still loosely conscious of it, regardless.) Beyond that, the world of curses and calamity and dark magic and illness-like afflictions was too broad - and maybe it was better not to make it his business, anyway.

And Lestrange was avoiding eye contact, which was maybe meant to make this all feel more nonchalant, but now Theo was fighting a thrum of nervousness in his limbs from it as he waited for the other shoe to drop. In hopes of looking less disquieted and more relaxed, himself, he pushed off from the wall and settled instead against the edge of the desk on the side Lestrange was sitting. He was closer to him now, and facing him properly, and - well, this was safer than drawing up another chair, anyway, because then the situation might drift towards an actual Professional Conversation. (And in the midst of this unexplained weirdness, that certainly seemed the worse option.)

Curling his hands absently around the desk-edge, Theo glanced down at the seeker’s hand on the pocketwatch beside him for a moment before he returned his attention to Lestrange’s face. “And - what about now?” he asked, with a little hesitance and a little hope. “Did you figure it out, are you... alright?” (Going to be alright, he should have said, because Lestrange was obviously still a little less than alright.)

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So, Cash thought to himself, a little wry, You need an excuse for ditching your life that stands up to scrutiny from your employer, who is also the man you've been kissing with some regularity. Perhaps this was why it had been a bad idea to get involved with Gallivan in the first place, although Cash had not been thinking things through at all the first time. Or perhaps it was a bad idea because it had him feeling accountable to someone other than himself, and he was just going to end up disappointing Gallivan sooner or later.

(He was having a hard time separating his own logic from the logic that had popped up in the room of the inn yesterday afternoon. Was he thinking about disappointing Gallivan because he was worried about disappointing Gallivan, or was he thinking about disappointing Gallivan because the dementor had convinced him it was inevitable?

And did it matter, or did all the thoughts that had popped up in that room belong to him, regardless?)

"I think I'm alright," Cash said, although that was not, entirely, truthful. With Gallivan on the desk he felt he ought to be able to offer the sponsor eye contact, but found himself looking at his jawline instead, unwilling to go further.

He swallowed. "Or — close enough to alright. It was, um —" he could not say dementor, because Gallivan had almost been an auror once, and would therefor probably know exactly how fucking bad it was that Cash had conjured a dementor "— a whole strange thing."

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   Fortitude Greengrass, Theodore Gallivan

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MJ made this!

He might be saying he was alright, but something still felt wrong.

Theo hadn’t actually asked, yet. Not outright - he had been hoping Lestrange would supply something more solid than that’s not far off without him having to say what happened? point-blank - but he still could, he supposed. He didn’t think it would help, though. It might be too private to explain. Might be worse to know. Lestrange wouldn’t say. And there was no way Theo was going to be any help, anyway, he was certain of that; but the concern in his chest was a kind of caring so it wasn’t like he could help that either, not when it was at least half Lestrange’s fault that he had been bothering to try and care at all.

At a loss for what to do with that, he scratched out some of the frustration by picking at the underside of the desk with his fingernail, still watching him as he answered.

A whole strange thing.

Theo almost snorted. “Oh, well, as long as it was strange,” he deadpanned, and after a beat quirked up a corner of his mouth in a sort-of smile, hoping it would either edge them out of this uncomfortable stiltedness or stamp out some of his frustrated helplessness inside. Maybe levity was the way through, after all? “Wouldn’t want to get yourself in any boring, run-of-the-mill kind of trouble.”

That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? If it were normal, it would be something he could explain. But at least he had made it through yesterday in one piece and had made it here today and hadn’t yet - abruptly resigned from quidditch, or anything like that, so maybe close enough to alright was... close enough to true.

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It was the deadpan that cracked Cash's nervousness; he tilted his head back and finally found himself able to make eye contact with Gallivan. A familiar thrum of nervousness hit when he did, but at least he could manage it, that was good, that was progress. He swiped his thumb along the face of his watch, almost as if to reiterate that it was still there.

"Well, no one's ever accused me of being boring," Cash said, with an attempt at a wry smile. If he removed all of the stress from the situation, this was exactly the sort of trouble he would get himself in — weird unresolved magic that didn't have an obvious solution, and the real problem was maybe-probably-definitely inside of his head.

He felt like he should ask Gallivan for something, but he didn't know what. And Gallivan didn't owe him anything. They were friends (or something) and Cash worked for him, but Theo didn't owe him anything, and Cash was already asking his friends for too much. Besides — what would he even ask for? Gallivan was already doing him enough of a favor, sitting here on the desk and letting him be cagey about it.

"I think," Cash said, and he did not want to ask for this but the words were getting pulled from his mouth unbidden, "That, um — if I seem strange — stranger than usual, and I know, right now —" he knew he had to look like shit "— I think I need you to let me know."

Can you keep an eye on me? He regretted asking for it immediately, and his eyes flicked away from Gallivan's again, a faint flush rising in his cheeks.

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MJ made this!

At least he was looking now - and it was easier to tell that he was being honest this way, felt less like Theo was clutching at straws to try and piece him together. He half-grinned back again at the wry remark, content enough to leave it there. Except he was dredging up something else now, some kind of request, and Theo did raise his eyebrows in pointed agreement at I know, right now; but any sarcasm fell away when he realised oh, maybe he is asking for help. It had to be serious, then.

And it was bad enough to be asked - Theodore was not in the habit of making promises to people these days, except maybe to Cee, and he was not particularly in the habit of following through on them even if he did - but as he sat in this discomfort, he decided it was probably a lot worse to be the one having to ask it.

So. “Yeah, I’ll - try,” he said, but Lestrange had looked away again and he felt a sudden twist in his gut so added, with more certainty in his tone: “Sure. I can do that.” He could, and he nodded as if to prove it. Even if Theo didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, he supposed... well, maybe he didn’t know him well enough, but he at least spent enough time around him to notice. And it wasn’t like it was a hard job, in theory, just being around, looking out for him. Being dependable, paying attention when stuff was off, whatever. Pointing it out. It wasn’t a big deal.

Theo tossed the thought around on his tongue for a while before he took the risk of asking it. “Then you think it might happen again?” The whole strange thing. Whatever had come up yesterday. Maybe this meant it wasn’t entirely resolved.

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   Reuben Crouch

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It was as if he'd been keeping tension in his shoulders without realizing, and as soon as Gallivan said Yeah, I'll try Cash felt it easing out of him. Gallivan was going to try, even though he shouldn't have to, and maybe — maybe — Cash was going to be alright. Sure, he hadn't seen yesterday coming — someone could have warned him a week ago and he never would have seen it coming — but maybe next time (next time?) he would or Ford would or Gallivan would or someone would, and then he would be able to cut off the feeling before it burst out of his head.

(Fuck, he was going to have to tell Angie.)

The second question was harder to deal with; he looked back up at Gallivan's face, and was biting down on his lower lip before he replied. "I'd prefer that it didn't," Cash said, a little flippant — which was maybe making light of the situation. It was just that if it happened again, he was fairly certain he would not survive it, and that this certainty was not actually because he was still so freshly off of an entire day spent with the thing.

"So — I had to ask. And —" this was uncomfortable and it took him half a beat to manage it "— thank you."

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   Theodore Gallivan

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MJ made this!

“Yeah, well,” Theo said at that first remark, with more than a little wryness. So would I. And he honestly hoped it didn’t - not that he expected Lestrange could help it if it were to, but all the same.

There had already been some seriousness in this conversation, but the added thank you was a little fraught and a fraction too sincere, and Theo hadn’t even done anything to help yet. So he ducked his head slightly, just enough to uncomfortably avert his gaze, and instead of trying to settle on saying it’s fine or it’s nothing, you’re welcome or it’s going to be alright - none of which sounded natural in his mouth, never mind true - he pressed his hand in brief reassurance. Well, not quite Lestrange’s hand, where it was still covering the watch; more clasping lightly at his wrist. (Which was still weird but maybe-less-weird, and probably still meant to mean it’s alright, but whatever, he was at a loss for a better alternative.)

“So, you want a code word?” he added jokingly, once he had retracted his hand; mostly just to flush out the thank you and the worry again with more offhand terrain, for both their sakes. “A secret hand signal, in case you get too weird in front of the team?” Theo managed a grin, pretending to demonstrate one, although if it reached that point - like Lestrange showing up with the pale, hollow-eyed, haunted look he had today - presumably everyone else who saw him would have noticed something off, too.

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   Cassius Lestrange

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There, he'd managed to get out everything he felt he had to say, and if Gallivan never wanted to touch him again because of this then — fine. He'd live. And this was without even managing to say I might be a little more fucked up than previously advertised, but from the whole offbeat tone of this conversation — he thought Theo got it. Maybe he didn't have to admit to it, at least not so explicitly.

The clasp to his wrist felt more affirming than anything else had. Cash finally released his fidgety grip on his pocketwatch and leaned a fraction towards Gallivan.

"Mmm, sure," Cash said, relieved to let wryness slip into his tone instead of the horrible earnestness he'd had to fumble out for the thank you. "We can get a secret handshake for it and everything." He mimicked Gallivan's weird hand gesture, to some success.

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The following 1 user Likes Cassius Lestrange's post:1 user Likes Cassius Lestrange's post
   Reuben Crouch

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MJ made this!

“Of course,” Theo said, rolling his eyes lightly to say very funny, and offered him a rude hand gesture this time for good measure. 

(And yeah, Lestrange was clearly only pretending to be fine and now Theo had even more proof of that than before - and he wasn’t going to forget it, either, wasn’t going to not be worried, whatever he was feigning now - but they could still keep pretending, right? If he could be making light of it all somehow, then didn’t there have to be some hope?)

Theo was not, admittedly, convinced pretend everything is alright until it starts to be was honestly going to be a useful strategy, but he didn’t have any better alternatives to fall back on. Lestrange was leaning up a little in his chair again, anyway; so with another slight smile, Theo rested a hand on the seeker’s shoulder like he had at his wrist, let it settle there comfortably for a while at the base of his neck.

There was a faint whiff of alcohol on him, beneath the smell of cigarettes.

Theo tilted his head skeptically. “You aren’t going to today’s practice, though,” he intoned, raising an eyebrow to say right?

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   Cassius Lestrange, Reuben Crouch

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Cash wanted to tilt forward and just lean against Gallivan, never mind that it would be a weird angle, because there was something about the physical touch that served as a reminder that this was real. And he was tired — he hadn't been able to sleep and had gotten home so late that he hadn't tried, but he was tired and Gallivan's hand on his shoulder had awakened this impulse in him. He kept himself upright, just sat in it, and tilted his head back at the sponsor at his statement.

"I can fly like this," Cash said, with no real feeling behind it either way. He had never flown like this before — had never felt exactly like this until yesterday — but his broomstick had never betrayed him before and he didn't think it would today. If he'd managed to survive playing for the Cannons in the summer after Eli died, he could survive it today.

Flying just felt natural, like once he had kicked off the ground he was always exactly where he was meant to be — the ease of it came to him even if he felt terrible.

But if it didn't, today, then —

And he really didn't want to fight Gallivan. In general, really, but today especially — he didn't want to fight him. He didn't think he had the stomach for it.

He moved his hand and rested it over Gallivan's on the desk edge. "But maybe I shouldn't."

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The following 1 user Likes Cassius Lestrange's post:1 user Likes Cassius Lestrange's post
   Theodore Gallivan

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MJ made this!

Theo wanted to lean in and fold his arms around him properly, but that probably wouldn’t help, would only make things awkward, was mostly a stupid impulse, so he didn’t.

He considered that answer. Yeah, he probably could, but better if he didn’t. Better if he came back fresh tomorrow, better he got whatever this was out of his system as best he could, best he didn’t kill himself trying to be normal today. “I think,” Theo said, trying not to let his eyes linger on Lestrange’s hand on his, trying not to be too aware of it - he had to lift his gaze to his face again to manage it - “maybe you should try and get some rest.”

Besides, he did look like utter shit today, and he already had the excuse of having been ill, and if he didn’t Theo was pretty certain his teammates would at least make him field a few questions, and given how little Lestrange had said here, it didn’t seem - fair to put him through all that.

He didn’t want to make it an order and he didn’t want to sound - uptight, or outwardly concerned about him again, so he left it a suggestion; but he thought the seeker was already halfway to agreeing, which was a relief.

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   Cassius Lestrange, Reuben Crouch

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