It was a warm summer evening, clear skies and mild air, but all Ari could feel was a sudden chill. The hair on the back of his neck was on end; a shiver threatened; he almost wanted to fold his arms around himself protectively.
But he couldn’t, because – because there was a practical matter at hand, of Ben’s fall. Ari watched as he tried to get to his feet and faltered. His face contorted further. He wished this was anyone else. He wished he hadn’t been here. He was so tempted to run.
It made him sick to the stomach to realise it, but Ari couldn’t quite disguise his own cowardice: he flinched at Ben’s outstretched hand. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be here. It’s too hard to be near you... If only they were in opposite places, and Ari could be the one left to writhe in pain and Ben could go free. He would have coped with that.
But he was still a healer, and he still loved Ben as deeply and fiercely as he had for the last twenty years, so he buried the flight instinct, jaw reluctantly set. He said nothing, but took his hand, and pulled; he tucked an arm around Ben’s side and offered his shoulders for Ben to lean on, more stiffly than he would have to anyone else. He couldn’t apparate until they were out of the park, but Ari would take him to the hospital or home and leave him there, wash his hands of this. Ben could look after himself. (That was probably a lie, but Ari had to tell himself that now, because it wasn’t any of his business to care.)
But he couldn’t, because – because there was a practical matter at hand, of Ben’s fall. Ari watched as he tried to get to his feet and faltered. His face contorted further. He wished this was anyone else. He wished he hadn’t been here. He was so tempted to run.
It made him sick to the stomach to realise it, but Ari couldn’t quite disguise his own cowardice: he flinched at Ben’s outstretched hand. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be here. It’s too hard to be near you... If only they were in opposite places, and Ari could be the one left to writhe in pain and Ben could go free. He would have coped with that.
But he was still a healer, and he still loved Ben as deeply and fiercely as he had for the last twenty years, so he buried the flight instinct, jaw reluctantly set. He said nothing, but took his hand, and pulled; he tucked an arm around Ben’s side and offered his shoulders for Ben to lean on, more stiffly than he would have to anyone else. He couldn’t apparate until they were out of the park, but Ari would take him to the hospital or home and leave him there, wash his hands of this. Ben could look after himself. (That was probably a lie, but Ari had to tell himself that now, because it wasn’t any of his business to care.)
