Thicker than Water (Marauders Era)

4 March, 1980 - Brave (II)

It took longer by far than he would have liked thanks to his stiff and painful limbs, but he got there. She was hunched over, sitting on her knees with her head bent over her wrists. Her wrists. The knife was resting on one, though there was no sign of blood, and it shuddered against her skin with every sob. Sirius's chest was gaping, aching hole as he reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled it away. He was almost surprised that she didn't resist, that she let the blade fall from her hand like she'd barely been holding it at all.

There was relief then, a wave of it so strong he fell back on his heels even as he set the blade as far away as he could without throwing it. It was short-lived, however. The wave broke and washed away and all that was left was the lingering fear, the pain and the worry and the ache in his chest that hadn't eased in the slightest. And the questions. What the hell had happened? What was wrong? Questions that could wait because right now... right now she was crying and sobbing with a desperation that made him want to scream.

He reached for her, just as he had on that summer day when she'd gotten such awful news. His arms protested and struggled, but he pulled her to him, settling her in his lap and gently as he could with his sluggish muscles.

He knew without asking a soul that he shouldn't have been able to do it, that if he had barely been able to push himself out of bed, he shouldn't have been able to pull much of anything at all to him. And though she'd always been light and worryingly so... he made a mental note to look at her more closely tomorrow. Just in case.

But for now... for now he held her. He let her sob for what felt like hours, let her cry until she was gasping and didn't seem to have any tears left. And then he just sat there and let her hiccup herself into silence, keeping his arms around her, offering whatever silent support he could.

They would talk later, he promised himself. And he most certainly was going to talk to her. This.... Well, he had no idea what had happened. How had she slipped so fast? How had she come even close to this again? And how had he not noticed the signs?

Sirius didn't know if he slept at all the rest of the night and he honestly wasn't sure if Lavinia had either. But whatever the case, when the dawn came, she shifted, taking a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at him. In the golden light of the early morning, he could see that her face was splotchy and her eyes were rimmed with red from the crying and again the guilt and confusion hit him. What had happened? Where had this come from?

She watched him for a moment, her face almost unnervingly still, then sighed. "You should be in bed," she murmured, her voice rather raw.

He exhaled a bit sharply, his throat tightening uncomfortably. "That's not really my priority right now," he whispered gently, eyes earnest and heart beating so loud and fast there was no way she didn't feel it.

But her eyes dropped, her gaze sinking down to settle on her hands. On her wrists. And another sharp pang went through Sirius, a pang of the sort of fear he hadn't felt in a wonderfully long time.

"I'm sorry," she replied, the words almost strangled. Sirius closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat as best he could. Merlin, this was too familiar and he hated it with every fiber of his being. He had thought they were past this, thought she was finally, finally better. Thought the battle was won. Fool, he cursed himself. Bloody fool. He had hoped and he knew it. He had hoped and had let that hope convince him that she was completely fine. That she had somehow miraculously pulled it all together. That it would never again come back to haunt her. Fool.

Remembering the thought he'd had last night, Sirius looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in far too long.

He didn't like what he saw.