clumsy_auror | (no subject)

(no subject)

Distractions are a positive thing.

Books are somewhat helpful, but her attention keeps wandering; the television or music are even less effective. Doing something with her hands is a definite improvement, so Nymphadora's sitting on the couch with a scrap of fabric, a spool of thread, a needle, and her wand in her hand. She's practicing the sewing spells Molly taught her.

As a concession to Bernard's nerves, there's a blanket tucked around her legs, and a cup of tea on the table in front of her.

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A brief nod. "Yeah. I do know. I just don't know-- I don't know how to say it. At all."

He nods. "I know." Another hesitation, and he flushes, feeling guilty for feeling bad. "Me neither."

"I know--"

Nymphadora stops, and takes a breath, her brow furrowing as she tries to verbalize it.

"I know everyone keeps saying that it doesn't matter that I wasn't far along, that it's still all right to grieve, I just... I feel like it isn't."

Another nod. "I know. But if you feel--bereaved, then it's probably best to admit it, right?"

Her eyes flicker back to the fire. "S'pose so."

Perhaps she doesn't realize how unnaturally tight her grip on his hand is.

Maybe the best thing to do is distract her. Maybe talking about how he feels would help.

Bernard has no idea how to even approach this. So, he waits, letting her squeeze his hand too hard, feeling the bones in his knuckles grind just a little bit.

Finally 'Dora catches on, and releases his hand abruptly, flushing. "Sorry 'bout that," she murmurs, tucking her hands awkwardly up under her arms.

But she's looking him in the eye, for once, and there's something a bit pleading in her gaze.

He smiles reluctantly and flexes his hand. "It's all right. I've had worse." Eyeing the way she's got herself pulled back, as if afraid, he sighs slowly.

"Allbright scared me about half to death."

"...Yeah," Nymphadora says quietly. "I'll bet he did."

"All I could think was that you'd gone on an unexpected raid." His hand smooths over her hip, fingertips picking at the seam of her jeans. "And then of course he gave me the real bad news."

"Not what you were expecting, huh? Me neither."

"Um. When did you realize?"

A sigh, and she rubs one of her eyes. "Started cramping up after lunch. It got... oddly painful."

He can't hide the flinch. "Must have been scary."

"Yeah, it was."

Now her eyes are a bit redder. Might be from the rubbing, though.

"Yeah." A breath. His fingertips creep up her side and back. "I'm afraid I scared Sunny and Anthony a little bit. I wasn't very good at explaining."

"We'll talk to them, love. But what did you-- what did you tell them?"

"That you were sick and we had to go meet you at the hospital." He shrugs, focusing on her hip. "True enough."

"Mm-hmm."

Her hand finds his again.

"Are you-- are you okay?"

"No." He looks up at her, his eyes red-rimmed. "Are you okay?"

Nymphadora shakes her head unsteadily.

"Didn't think so," he replies, then sits up, shifting on the couch so that he's lying down on the outside now, facing her.

"So here we are. Both not okay."

She laughs shakily. "Yeah. Better off both here than alone, I guess."

He nods, impulsively scooting forward to kiss the tip of her nose.

"But you're very quiet." He laughs, a little. "I feel pretty dumb, doing all the talking here."

"I just--"

Her voice is halting, like she's forcing the words out.

"I just feel... stuck. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, except stuck. Like I can't go back, but I can't go forward, either."