22nd October, 1892 — Selwyn Estate, wedding reception

He couldn’t tell if Cash had had any hand in the invitation. It wasn’t like he’d chosen any other part of this, so he probably hadn’t – and it wasn’t as though Theo wanted to be here either. But of course it would have looked bad if they hadn’t, and Cecily wouldn’t have heard of it, so. Here they were.

He was milling around and counting the minutes, but it was still much too early to leave. Drinking might have made this a little more bearable, but there were far too many of Cash’s relatives in this room to make that a wise decision; so instead Theo was mostly sober and entirely on edge, and was determinedly staying out of the groom’s orbit, for both their sakes.

He had to duck out for some air eventually, though – he’d wandered blindly from the ballroom, down a hall and then out a door onto some kind of unlit patio that didn’t seem decorated as if it was part of the party. Fine. Good. He could hide out here a while. Maybe he should’ve even taken a leaf out of Cash’s book tonight, and had a cigarette to hand. If nothing else, smoking would have given Theo something to do with himself that wasn’t just leaning his head back against the stone wall of the Selwyn manor and taking deep breaths, closing his eyes and wishing he was somewhere else.

Because when he opened his eyes again and started looking absently out at the grounds, Theo registered a movement nearby and almost startled out of his skin. Oh. He wasn’t alone at all – there was someone else out here already, and he’d been too lost in his own head to even notice them.

Theo straightened up a little against the wall, feeling sheepish and caught and doing his best not to show it. “Sorry,” he offered, for unknowingly intruding; he glanced at the other man properly and found, with a faint jolt of surprise, that he recognised him. “...Greengrass, isn’t it?” Theo said hesitantly, with some recollection of his name and of an embarrassingly bad chess match last year, and also, before he could hold back the thought, “– Lestrange’s friend?”

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Fortitude Greengrass/Reuben Crouch

  

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Unfortunately for Ford, his friendship with Cash was common knowledge in his family, while their recent falling out was not. It would have been suspect if he'd tried to decline the invitation even if they hadn't been close, but since Cash had the distinction of being one of only two people Ford had ever invited to dinner it would have required quite an explanation to get him out of this, which Ford wasn't up for. He'd never been a particularly good liar, and the twice in his childhood he'd tried to feign a stomach bug to get out of something he didn't want to do his ploy had been discovered in mere moments. Besides, if he'd feigned illness the rest of the family still would have come, and then it would be obvious (to Cash, anyway) that Ford was avoiding him.

Or maybe he wouldn't have noticed. They hadn't spoken since their falling out on the walk through Wellingtonshire, when Cash had first announced this wedding. Partly that was Ford's fault — he had, after all, quietly let his membership at Black's expire this month — but if Cash had wanted to talk, he could have owled. Hell, he could have just shown up; he knew where Ford lived. He could have even pinned him down at any of the various society events they both drifted through in the interim. He hadn't, obviously, which was probably to be expected. Ford had always been a little more invested in this friendship than Cash had, which he was finally starting to come to terms with.

But it put him in a weird position tonight, trying to act to his family as though everything was peachy with the pair of them while also finding any convenient excuse not to actually occupy the same quarter of the room as Cash at any given point. And if that wasn't mentally taxing enough, there were other people here he didn't want to see. He did not have the spare brainpower to survive being caught in a conversation with Macnair's wife, which would probably involve her discussing her son — so when the rotations of conversation partners through the ballroom had made that seem like a likely possibility, he'd excused himself by saying he needed the lavatory and then gone instead to the most secluded part of the estate he could find.

Which he had to himself for a grand total of a minute. Maybe he should have just gone to the lavatory — then at least he could have locked himself in long enough to let the facade drop before taking time to recompose himself. Ford started to walk back towards the house to do that, but hesitated when he saw the interloper lean against the wall. There was a familiar tone to the way his shoulder rose and fell with his breath, and Ford suspected he had been looking for an escape just as much as Ford had. Was that just projection? It certainly wasn't wishful thinking, because now Ford couldn't help but feel as though he'd intruded on a personal moment (and nevermind that he'd been here first). He might have slunk off through the garden and tried to find another way back inside, to avoid trespassing any further, but before he could figure out which direction to go he had been spotted, and addressed — by name, no less. He edged a bit closer to the house and took a closer look at the man who'd joined him on the patio, eventually placing him as Cash's Quidditch boss.

"...Yeah," he replied. He felt vaguely guilty about labeling himself Cash's friend, given everything, but how else could he have responded? He certainly wasn't going to pour his heart out to a virtual stranger about something he hadn't even mentioned to Noble. "You're the one who owns the Cannons?"

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Set by Lady!

The one who owns the Cannons. “Yeah,” he affirmed, pasting on a brief smile. It felt like it faded off his face faster every time he tried tonight, like he was losing the thread of everything.

Theo paused, lips slightly parted. He should probably say something else. Actually, he shouldn’t have started a conversation at all: he wasn’t in a fit state for one. Now, though, it felt suddenly necessary to cover himself, to say something in the vein of small talk, something polite and ordinary and perfectly forgettable, just in case the other man had noticed anything strange on walking up.

Are you enjoying the reception? He could try: but obviously not, if he was here. So he could ask what Greengrass was doing out here, but then he’d probably have to find a suitable excuse for being out here too. And he couldn’t bring himself to go back inside, not yet, not when he could barely string his thoughts together.

“How,” Theo finally began, as if it had just occurred to him and hadn’t been the one thing on his mind all night – and he shouldn’t ask about Cash, he really shouldn’t: but at least it was dark and he could maybe breathe a little better and he was mostly alone, so it felt safer to think about it out here than it had in there, a risk almost worth taking; and it wasn’t like Greengrass knew or cared who he was, or even knew his name; and he hadn’t spoken to anyone else worth asking it of, anyway, and when else would he get a chance to hear anything at all about his life, after tonight; and it was an innocuous question, wasn’t it, completely harmless, even if his brow was creased and his pulse erratic and he couldn’t judge if he’d messed up the delivery of it in his desperation, tipped too far from casual and too far towards imploring, “– how is he?”

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Ford had expected him to say something, but he hadn't expected that. Another soft pang of guilt hit his stomach. He supposed this was his penance for calling himself Cash's friend, having to bluff his way through a conversation about him. On the other hand, what else could they possibly have talked about? They'd been not-terribly-far-off in Hogwarts but Ford didn't know that they'd ever had an actual conversation there. Quidditch had never been his scene, even as a child. The time they'd played chess they'd just talked about Cash too, hadn't they? It was probably the only thing they had in common. So on the one hand, this was normal; the only logical question that could have followed, really. On the other hand — there was something to it that was different. A beseeching undercurrent that separated the question from casual small talk — or was he projecting again?

Well, one thing Ford couldn't have been imagining was the setting for this conversation. They were both here, outside the bounds of the party while it was still in full swing. Something had driven Gallivan out here, and that same something might have been what Ford was sensing in his body language when he'd first leaned against the wall, or in his tone when he'd asked the question. Was it the same thing that had lead Ford out here? Was he avoiding Cash, too? No, that was stupid. What reason could Gallivan have had to care about the wedding?

On the other hand, the question and the way in which it was asked left little room for doubt in Ford's mind that Gallivan cared about Cash. A friend as well as a professional connection, then? Had they had a falling out as well, over something else? This thought caused Ford's brow to crease with worry. Cash being trapped in a sham marriage was bad, and he'd had no qualms telling him that. Cash being trapped in a sham marriage alone, after he'd been isolated from all his friends, was much worse.

Ford let out a long breath as something Cash had said a long time ago popped back into his mind unbidden. Ford had asked if he was okay, in the Muggle hotel room with the fledgling dementor lurking in the corner, and Cash had replied I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said yes.

He still had not answered Gallivan's question, and didn't know how to. Ford didn't really know, but was beginning to suspect that the both of them being out here and not inside was partly an answer in and of itself. But this was all conjecture, and it would have been a betrayal of his friendship to Cash — dead though it might be now — to share his suspicions with someone on the outside.

"As well as he ever is," Ford responded, which was to say not well at all. He watched Gallivan's expression, trying to see if he picked up on the subtext or not, then asked, "You haven't talked to him lately?"

They worked together; fight or no, that would at least made it harder to entirely avoid each other.

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   Theodore Gallivan

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Set by Lady!

It took Greengrass a long moment to say anything, and in that interlude Theo regretted asking the question. Because there was no good answer to it, was there? If there was nothing ostensibly wrong and Cash seemed well, happy, perfectly comfortable with the life that awaited him, the French wife and new house and the Ministry career – and meanwhile Theo was stuck feeling like this, more of a mess than ever – then it would be a kick in the gut to hear. But he wasn’t going to be happy, was he? Cash hadn’t wanted the wife or the Ministry career, hadn’t had a choice. Theo had had one – he hadn’t forgotten the earnestness in it’s up to you. So maybe the only possible answer here was that Cash wasn’t doing any better, either; so maybe Theo’s decision had only made them both feel that much worse.

It didn’t matter, because he couldn’t have expected a real answer: it wasn’t like small talk and honesty often overlapped in society. Still. If that was the very best Greengrass could do – as well as he ever is – he had to grimace at it. That was bad. Cash’s baseline was bad. And – whatever the circumstances – the last thing he wanted was for Cash to be doing badly.

He hadn’t realised that he was wringing his hands together. He dropped both abruptly to his sides, and tried to keep them still.

“He quit,” Theo said blankly, as if that answered it. Given he had only formally retired a week ago, though, it really didn’t. Nor did a player leaving the team usually stand to mean so I can never speak to him again, either. But Theo had been pretending all night that things were fine, and he was sick to death of it now, exhausted – because even if they’d had to keep seeing each other in the last few months, it hadn’t been the same. They hadn’t spoken alone. In fact, Theo had spent as little time at the Cannons stadium as possible, and neither of them had stayed after hours. Well, he hadn’t, anyway. He had no idea where Cash had been.

It was already dangerous ground here – he should keep his mouth shut – but there was suddenly another swell of frustration at Cash; at how things had ended; at how he couldn’t even sort out his feelings because now there was no one he could conceivably talk to about this, so it was all probably just going to rattle around in him forever, unresolved. “And, well, I thought – we were – friends,” he said, because he had to say something else – but he carefully tamped down the truth and most of the hurt, until hopefully only ruefulness was left. “But he doesn’t tell me anything, anyway. He – he didn’t even tell me about this until it was practically in the papers.” Theo gave a hollow laugh and a bitter gesture back towards the house to mean the marriage, the engagement. (Though, somehow, even worse than the news about the arrangement and the unbreakable vow and the terrible situation was the way Cash had delivered it all: completely impassive, entirely devoid of anger, like any of it was remotely alright. But he couldn’t say that.) He tried to shrug it off. “So – I don’t know.”

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   Cassius Lestrange

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Ah. Ford understood all of that perfectly — those words may as well have come from his own mouth, on the heels of his last fight with Lestrange. It seemed his guess about what had driven Gallivan out to the abandoned patio was correct after all: they were both avoiding Cash. This was bad for Cash, bad from every angle, but Ford couldn't help but feel just the slightest bit of relief as the pieces clicked into place, because maybe being out here with someone else who had thought they were friends and was now reconsidering was better than being out here alone. It was still a rather miserable turn of events, but at least there was a shred of solidarity in it. It meant, at the bare minimum, that this wasn't solely Ford's fault. Maybe Cash was self-destructing and they had been friends, right up until the end, or maybe he'd been keeping more distance with everyone and he'd never cared about any of his so-called friends, but at least the shallow, short-lived nature of their relationship hadn't been something painfully obvious to everyone but Ford. That was something.

At least he mentioned it before it hit the papers, Ford thought, thinking of himself a little over a year ago hung over and staring dumbly at an engagement notice he'd had no idea was coming. But that wasn't exactly relevant — comparing Cash's interactions with his boss to Ford's feelings about his affair partner who decided to get married to someone he didn't love wasn't particularly germane.

"It's not you." Ford moved his hands to his pockets and shifted his weight. He was stepping into a role he had no real rights to and was aware of the awkwardness inherent to that, but — this was sort of his thing, wasn't it, comforting people and offering advice? Nevermind that he didn't actually know anything about their friendship; he hadn't known anything about Cash's trauma before that night with the dementor, and he'd stepped in regardless. Sometimes — frequently, if he was being honest — Ford fell into things not by virtue of being the most qualified person around to handle them, but by being the only one there when it needed to be addressed. And he could project enough to make it through, probably — his own anger at Cash seemed stale by comparison to whatever had happened with Gallivan, if he was still wringing his hands about it, but there were likely enough similarities there to carry him through. He knew, anyway, what he might have wanted to hear.

"Cash can't — he doesn't — he's not good at talking about things. Some things, anyway." Anything that involved a feeling. Now that Ford was thinking about it from this side of things — now that seeing his own situation mirrored in Gallivan's description had forced him to consider it from an outside point of view — the fact that Cash hadn't brought it up any earlier was probably an indication of the strength of the friendship, not the opposite. If he didn't care what Ford or Gallivan had to say about the matter, there wouldn't have been any reason to avoid bringing it up for so long. Ford had gotten a bit of a lead on Gallivan, it seemed — unless practically in the papers was mere hyperbole — but he certainly hadn't heard about it until it was all decided already. Until it was too late for anything that Ford said on the subject to make any difference. Ford wondered if Cash had been consciously setting up these conversations so that he didn't have to make any difficult decisions, so that he could fall back on it's all out of my hands, or whether he'd been in the habit of avoiding difficult conversations for so long that he didn't even have to think about it any more.

He glanced back towards the house, with the noises of the party muted by layers of quiet rooms between them but still faintly audible. "Do you think you'll be friends again, after all the dust settles around this?" It must have been lonely, being the center of attention at the reception.

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Set by Lady!

What he’d been expecting anyone to say to that, he wasn’t sure, but – Greengrass’ answer was as comforting as anything could be. Theo exhaled slowly, turning over those words in his head almost in surprise. Wasn’t it him? He’d reacted badly, he knew that – maybe he’d overreacted, even. Maybe he should have just been fine with everything, or at least more sympathetic. He could have been more mature; more forgiving of the situation; less hurt by something that was out of both of their hands.

But he let that thought go because maybe Greengrass had a point, too. Not good at talking about things: that did sound a lot like Cash. In spite of his low spirits, Theo almost had to smile at that – a wry turn came to the corner of his mouth, and a burst of feeling with it, a tenderer ache than the hurt and hopeless anger. He nodded slightly in concession.

And for a heartbeat, he almost felt a little better for it – but at the next question, Theo slumped a little harder against the wall, a muscle tightened in his jaw again. “After the dust settles, and then what?” he echoed, because in truth the fact that Cash had waited so long to tell him about the wedding was the least of his worries now. “That’s his life now.” He was married – and now Theo knew about the vow. Cash was trapped in his marriage and his family and his promises forever, that was final, and there was nothing Theo could do to change it or rescue him from it. Well, except keep his distance: so that the walls Cash lived in didn’t get any more suffocating around him, so he didn’t make things worse.

“And I can’t –” Theo said, desperation clawing at him again. He lifted a hand to rub his temples, which was mostly to momentarily hide the expression on his face. “It’s better if we’re not.” He wasn’t going to risk Cash’s life every time he saw him. And he didn’t think – he wasn’t sure if he could just be his friend, either.

When he looked up, Theo glanced at Greengrass again with an unspoken question newly written on his face. Why, will you? (Cash, he’d called him, and Theo had known that they were friends, but with the way Greengrass had described him he was suddenly certain they were real friends, that they were actually close, close enough to actually talk about true things. And – he hadn’t said he wasn’t speaking to him or anything, so maybe things were still alright between them; and that was good, he was glad Cash still had friends around him – but on the other hand, for some reason Greengrass was hiding out here too.)

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Ford let out a breath at Gallivan's response and looked off towards the edge of the house. Then I suppose I'll have to, he thought with resignation. He didn't want to. He still thought this marriage was ill-advised at best and doomed to end in disaster at worst, regardless of Cash having treated it like a foregone conclusion, and he didn't want to put himself in a position to serve as an accessory to stupidity. But he didn't think he could keep his distance if Cash had no one. He still cared, of course — he'd fought over it with Cash because he cared. He couldn't passively watch him self-destruct, at least if there was any chance that he could intervene and help.

This was, of course, assuming Cash would even let him back in. Cash hadn't been at Black's the next week after their fight; he had cut ties just as much as Ford had. Ford ran his thumb against the lining of his pocket and looked at the floor. It took a moment of consideration before it occurred to him that Gallivan thought the marriage was a bad idea, too — his reply implied this wasn't a momentary falling out based on the timing or the manner in which the news had been broken, but rather a fundamental change in the nature of their relationship. That's his life now. Ford looked back at Gallivan and tried to puzzle through what he might have meant by better. When he'd first said it Ford had just glazed over the phrase, but now that the full weight of that's his life now had caught up to him he turned it over again and again.

"...Yeah," Ford said, still mentally chewing over it. "I get what you mean. It changes things. I think — Cash was hoping it wouldn't, but of course it does." He sighed, shrugged. It was done now, so Cash would figure that all out soon enough. He might have said living with a wife would be better than living with his father, but Ford didn't think Cash would like it as much as he'd hoped. Trying to picture himself in that situation — married to someone he didn't particularly care about and trying to keep up a facade for her all the time — made his palms itch. But then, Cash hadn't really been getting married because he wanted to. He'd said there was someone he was trying to protect.

Something clicked in his brain and Ford looked up at Gallivan's face with sharp surprise, then quickly shifted his gaze back towards the nearest bushes. Could it be?

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   Cassius Lestrange

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Set by Lady!

Greengrass sounded pensive about it... but it also sounded like he understood the difficulty of it, at least a little. So his words might not be exactly comforting, but there was some relief in them regardless, and – well, Theo shouldn’t even be talking about this, but this conversation felt like the only thing left keeping him together. He couldn’t explain why; maybe Greengrass was a good listener. Maybe his presence was calming, non-judgemental. Or maybe that was just the inevitable side-effect of not being out here entirely alone.

Cash was hoping it wouldn’t, Greengrass affirmed. “And I know he didn’t have a choice,” Theo acknowledged miserably, in Cash’s defence, but I still hate it. He folded his arms around himself and sighed. “But yeah. It does.” Surely anyone who knew Cash could see the reluctance in all this, his father’s hand – surely anyone who cared about him could agree it was a bad situation. Theo wondered if Cash had talked about any more of it to Greengrass, or Greengrass could just read him well enough to figure out what he was thinking. Had he heard anything else about the marriage? Did he know any more about Cash’s father and the vow?

Or... did he know something else? A little late, Theo registered that something might have altered in Greengrass’ expression the last time he’d looked over. He’d seemed almost startled, hadn’t he? Theo swallowed quietly. (Did he even want to know?) Trying to feign that he hadn’t noticed anything different and wasn’t disconcerted by it, he only furrowed his brow and directed the question back before he said anything else too honest. “Did it, uh, change things for you?”

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"No," Ford answered, altogether too quickly, before realizing that answer didn't make much sense following on the heels of his last statement that of course it changed everything. He couldn't help the word tumbling out because he'd been too distracted trying to backtrack through their conversation and knit everything Gallivan had said into some cohesive narrative in his head, to see if the idea that had popped into his mind had any merit. Gallivan said Cash didn't have a choice and that seemed like the sort of thing Cash wouldn't have said to just anyone, so — did that mean they were more than just friends? Not necessarily, because Cash had said it to Ford, hadn't he, and they were — good friends (or at least they had been) but still very definitely just friends. So when Gallivan asked did it change things for you while he was in the middle of these haphazard thoughts Ford couldn't help but hear it as did it change things in the same way for you as it did for me and he had been eager to assure him that no, of course not, things weren't like that.

But he was jumping to conclusions, and he didn't have any real proof that Gallivan was the person Cash had been talking about. He might have tried to play this off and put the notion to bed, except that he'd already put his foot in his mouth with the hurried and nonsensical response. Being smooth was off the table. "I mean — it's — I mean it has, but not —" What was he going to say at this point? That he was sure they would work through it? He was sure of no such thing, and had not even fully committed to trying, though at this point he thought it more likely than not. He couldn't say not like that because that would beg the obvious follow-up question of like what and Ford would have nothing to say. He couldn't actually bring it up, even opaquely, without risking exposing Cash if he was wrong, and there was every chance that he was wrong. Sure, the things Gallivan had said so far made it not-impossible, but it was still a long way off from admitting to anything.

"We've — always had sort of a weird friendship," he finally managed. If he was trying to clear any doubts about the nature of their relationship, this was hardly going to do it; without further explanation it sounded exactly like the sort of euphemism someone might have used. So, because he was desperate to move the conversation along and had not paused to consider how any of what he said next might sound landing on the ears of a relative stranger, he continued, "I don't know if you ever felt this way but it seems like sometimes he just needs a voice of reason, because he just — doesn't do that for himself, sometimes — and I sort of — this wedding... it feels like I've let him down, a little, by not managing to talk him out of it."

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   Adrienne Lestrange, Cassius Lestrange, Theodore Gallivan

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Set by Lady!

But not like that. He hadn’t even finished the sentence, but Theo was certain that was what Greengrass had been about to say. He was sure of it, somehow by instinct alone. His body had been ready to face it, too – tense with dread, his stomach twisting, his heart leaping into his throat.

It had to mean that Greengrass knew. So Theo clearly hadn’t been as careful or as subtle as he’d hoped, then. Or else Greengrass had known all along, either because Cash had told him something, or from – personal experience – and maybe that was why he’d understood so well what to say? He seemed flustered now, stumbling over words in his haste to explain, or in some attempt to brush off the idea. Theo couldn’t brush off the idea: he was frozen in it, staring at Greengrass with wordless consternation. He couldn’t seem to move or to breathe or to stop looking, let alone think of anything to say. His mouth had gone dry.

Sort of a weird friendship. Well, that was one way to put it. The thing was, he didn’t know how much to read into it – if there was anyone more likely to have genuine weird friendships than Cash, he hadn’t met them. But Theo had called him his friend, too, when friendship wasn’t at all what he felt; and he knew Cash cared about him, fine, but – it was like Greengrass had said, he didn’t talk about things, they didn’t talk about their feelings – and Theo knew there had to have been other people in Cash’s history, but he hadn’t thought that... Well, it didn’t matter anyway, because it was over. It was over.

But Greengrass had said no, it hadn’t changed things between them (at least not like that), so maybe he just had to trust that instead. “Oh,” Theo said, aware he had gone very quiet whilst he weighed everything up. And he still wasn’t sure what he believed or what he felt or what he was supposed to do. Impossible, when he didn’t know how much Greengrass knew, or what he might be inclined to do with it... but Greengrass knew something – knew enough – and whatever kind of friends he and Cash might have been, there was at least a ring of truth in the last part. Finally letting his gaze drop, Theo gave up on searching for some way out and managed, instead, to shake his head. “That’s not your fault,” he added, his voice a little scratchy. “You wouldn’t have been able to. At least you tried.”

There was just no way reason could have won; the decision had been out of all their hands. No amount of trying would have mattered. But Greengrass was still right: Cash didn’t seem to have any sense of what was normal, any sense of self-preservation. “And he’ll still need that, now he’s married,” he pointed out, nearly wry. “A voice of reason, I mean.” With or without Theo, the threat of that unbreakable vow meant there was still plenty of risk in Cash’s life. And there was no use in him losing all his friends.

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   Adrienne Lestrange, Cassius Lestrange, Fortitude Greengrass

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In the silence that followed his words, Ford only grew more uncertain about his choice of words. He still didn't know what he could have said exactly, but he knew that what he'd ended up saying hadn't been the right thing, because he was almost positive that he'd been misunderstood to some degree. He didn't know what Gallivan was thinking when he looked at Ford like that, but he could feel that it was wrong. He'd derailed the conversation and now there was some misconception — maybe several misconceptions — clouding the air between them. Ford shifted his weight uneasily and flexed his fingers in his jacket pocket.

"Yeah," he said, responding to everything Gallivan had said or maybe to nothing he had said and instead to something beneath the words. "I, ah — I'm sorry."

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Set by Lady!

Greengrass was sorry. “Yeah,” Theo said quietly, at a loss for anything to say to that. He was sorry too. And this was supposed to have been a temporary escape, ducking outside for air just for long enough to pull himself together – but the conversation had gotten away from him and too much feeling had flooded in, and now that he had opened the door to everything, Theo didn’t know how to close it again. So he didn’t think he could face going back inside at all, anymore.

Maybe he should just go home. But even going home abruptly sounded too hard to accomplish in this moment, required too much planning; so instead Theo sank to the ground right where he’d been leaning. He hunched forwards, resting his arms on his knees in front of him and burying his face in his hands. (He should have waited for Greengrass to leave before he crumbled completely, probably, but he was suddenly too tired to care. There was no one else out here – and since Greengrass already knew everything, knew about him and Cash, what did it really matter if he fell apart? There was no use pretending otherwise. The only risk left here was that he’d find out just how pathetic Theo was too. Fine. Whatever. That was true.)

“I wasn’t ready for any of it,” he admitted without looking up, the words muffled and uneven and at least half to himself. But who knew? If Greengrass’s friendship with Cash was on the rocks about the wedding as well, at least news of this might not get back to him. And if Greengrass had taken the first opportunity to turn and run, it was all the same to him: maybe some things still needed confessing, even to himself. Because Theo was supposed to have seen this coming, apparently; and supposed to have been able to cope; and this was the path he had chosen, so he shouldn’t be this much of a sorry mess and shouldn’t be wavering now. “And I don’t know what to do without –” him. “I don’t know what to do.”

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Apparently I'm sorry had been the wrong thing to say too, if Gallivan's reaction was anything to judge by. He'd completely crumbled, and Ford panicked. He knew Gallivan hadn't been doing well during this conversation, but he didn't know him well enough to have anticipated this, and he didn't know what to do next. He had an urge to put his hand on the other man's shoulder or otherwise offer some gesture of comfort, but they didn't know each other well enough for that. At the start of this conversation Ford hadn't even been entirely confident where he recognized the face from, so they were a long way off from Ford serving as a literal shoulder to cry on. Or they ought to have been — with Gallivan on the ground and his head in his hands it almost seemed like a possibility. If that was how this all ended, Ford wasn't sure he'd even have it in him to be surprised.

Ford took a breath and looked around. It was still just as deserted as it had been when he'd arrived out here, with no sign that would change any time soon. Gingerly, he lowered himself to sit down on the ground and leaned back on his hands, still a few feet away from Gallivan but now back on the same level.

"I, uhm. I know what that's like," he admitted with a pained look. He didn't want to go into any details (except so far as necessary to make it clear he and Cash had never been together) but he thought it was important that Gallivan have at least some bit of information to believe him sincere, rather than merely offering empty platitudes about things he knew nothing about in practice. And sincerity was necessary if he was going to get Gallivan up off the ground, which he had now committed to — of course Ford couldn't just leave him here.

"Do you have anyone else you can talk to about it?" he asked with a frown. "That helps, even if you have to leave out all the specifics."

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   Theodore Gallivan

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Set by Lady!

Greengrass hadn’t left, then. Theo felt ridiculous for being relieved about that, like Greengrass wasn’t a near-stranger and talking about this wasn’t dangerous behaviour and this situation, generally, wasn’t mortally embarrassing – but still, he was relieved that Greengrass had stayed. He hadn’t dared look at him properly again, but Theo rubbed his eyes with a hand and then shot a glance sidelong, just enough to see Greengrass leaning on his hands in his peripheral vision. Greengrass, who had said he knew what that’s like.

You do? he might’ve asked, if his throat didn’t feel too raw. He could hear in his tone, the awkward stiltedness, that there was something honest there. Which bit, Theo had to wonder. Not being ready for things ending, maybe, or missing someone so badly it physically hurt, or having to watch as the person you loved got married to someone else –

“No,” Theo choked out helplessly at that question, managing to lift his head high enough to shake it, and to make a scoffing noise that was nearly a desperate laugh. “Who – who would you talk to about it?”

If Greengrass had really been through this, maybe he’d have some idea, but Theo didn’t. There were people he called friends, of course, but they didn’t talk about things like this and he didn’t think he wanted to be that person. It was too risky, besides – he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone beyond his family to keep a secret as though their life depended on it. If anything came out, he trusted his family to keep it, but... But he couldn’t tell Veronica: she had enough to deal with already, and he still felt too guilty (– for how he’d treated her in the past; that her husband was absent without leave and had just left her alone to care about everybody in his place –) to burden her with anything else. And he could hardly tell Cee, because although she would listen and be kind and want to help, she was already too close. She might have the best intentions, but she knew everyone he spent time with; she knew Cash too. Even without the specifics, she’d figure it out one way or another, because Cecily Gallivan had never been able to leave well enough alone.

And of course there was the added fact that discussing this with anyone would make it excruciatingly and irrevocably clear that he was a mess, which Theo didn’t want – but that sounded especially nonsensical now that he had put his foot in his mouth and practically fallen to pieces on the first person who’d happened by. (So Greengrass could probably guess how many people he had to talk to.)

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The following 2 users Like Theodore Gallivan's post:2 users Like Theodore Gallivan's post
   Adrienne Lestrange, Fortitude Greengrass

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Ford had to stop and actually consider that. It was a natural enough question, but not one he'd thought through. If they were reaching all the way back to when he had been through this, with Macnair dropping the news of his engagement in the paper, Ford didn't know that he was really the best example to look towards. His coping mechanisms at the time hadn't exactly been healthy — he still had those letters squirreled away somewhere, which also probably wasn't healthy — and he'd just ended up back with him in the end, which he still felt guilty and conflicted about. The better analogy was probably in the autumn, before they'd broken things off for good.

Ford let out a scoff of a laugh, without any real mirth, as he realized the answer. "Cash, probably," he admitted. "But that doesn't help you much." Since he'd first suspected what Gallivan meant by better that we're not, Ford had grown more sure of his assessment — friends were not likely to crumple to the floor because of an argument — but even if they were still leaning on the pretense, Gallivan had been pretty clear that he didn't think they'd be speaking to each other any time soon. Ford looked at Gallivan a moment, considering, but really what he said next was a foregone conclusion; Ford had never been the sort that could walk away from an unsolved problem.

"We could talk about it, if you want. We could get drinks sometime and talk," he offered. After a beat, he added (as though this needed to be said), "Somewhere private."

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Set by Lady!