InsaneJournal

WHO: Eames and Sirius and Reg from the future (y'know, the porny one) and Kreacher
WHAT: Second Episode of the Soap Opera that is Eames and Sirius (First episode is here)
WHEN: Backdated to April 27th
WHERE: Reg's place
RATING: Soap Opera Drama and Trauma. Standard warnings for Eames and Sirius also apply.
STATUS: Complete, closed



Apparating was as sickening as ever, if not more so. The fact that his head was bunged full of ick made things pretty horrific, but the sudden lurch to the side just as they popped into Reg's building set Eames to gagging for a moment. He let go of Sirius' arm and slumped against the nearest wall until he managed to get his stomach under control, then frowned when he recognised that they were in the corridor outside Reg's flat. "Sirius, you missed," he muttered, then stood up straight again and tried to sort out his hair in some sort of delaying tactic. It was a bit crap, as delaying tactics went, since his hair was short and free of any sort of product so it just stayed a bit spikey and a bit bed-headish and he gave up after the third attempt to flatten his cowlicks.

“So, what? Is he not in or something? Does it always do that awful shift-to-the-side thing when you go to Reg’s? Apparating is rubbish, I hate it, I don’t know why you don’t try and install that chimney-travel thing that’s in the books... other than the lack of chimneys, right, ignore me, I’m talking arse,” Eames said, then walked over to Reg’s front door and knocked on it a couple of times. Then he waited a second and knocked again. “Reg? You in?”

Oh, Godric. That was probably the reason you weren’t supposed to apparate with a cold. Somewhere in the middle one of Sirius’ ears had popped, while the other had just remained stubbornly battling the painful changes in pressure. Once they arrived (In the fucking corridor.) Sirius, still with his cloak blanket, slumped back against the wall, pinching his nose and blowing against his sealed nostrils to try and relieve the pain in his ear. There was a sharp pop, and Eames’ words suddenly increased in volume.

“He doesn’t like me apparating in,” he commented. “It’s probably Merlin’s wards, so there’s really fuck all I can do to get around them.” It was annoying, how pointless Sirius’s magic was against Merlins. Of course, he was Merlin, so it made sense. But he was also an annoying little tit. Sirius made a mental note to jinx his shop once all this was over. It had been too long. In the meantime Eames was doing some disgustingly loud knocking on the door, and Sirius sneezed unpleasantly, remaining slumped against the wall as he waited for his brother to answer.

“Reg? Are you in?” Eames called again, then turned round to watch Sirius spread some more germs. “I don’t think he’s in,” he said, then reached into his back pocket for his phone.

“Reg, are you in? Need to ask you somethig, quiet urgently” he texted to the younger Black brother, and then let his head rest against the wall. It was nice and cold and did fuck all to help his headache really, but he was beyond caring at that point. The swirl of thoughts in his head was more confusing than anything else, and didn’t really go so well with the ick that was already taking up space in his skull. Amazingly (or not, when you remembered Eames’ chosen profession) he’d dealt with things that made less sense than this whole scenario on a number of occasions, but he could not get his head around what the facts seemed to be pointing towards. Sirius and his mother... fucking hell.

He fished a tissue out of a different pocket and blew his nose and then groaned because really, he’d had more than enough of stupid colds and flus and plagues by now. “How long do you think it’ll take for him to get back from wherever he is?” he asked Sirius, not bothering to move away from the wall. It was doing such a good job of holding him upright, after all.

Regulus had been enjoying his morning, it was lazy and child free and very indulgent. He was far too thrilled to be having a morning to himself and Juno to be arsed to help his dripping brother. When this short holiday was over he had two kids that contracted and carried diseases at a far more alarming rate than should be humanly possible. As much fun as it was helping someone blow their nose Regulus would take a pass on wiping Sirius’ nostrils.

That was his attitude when his PDA started blinking just out of the corner of his eye. With a sigh he picked it up to remind his brother that he has his own two hands and could take care of his own bodily fluids. But it wasn’t his brother, that was surprising enough Regulus quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m at Juno’s old flat. What do you need?” He texted and sent, it was Eames asking after all.

Eames blinked as his phone buzzed in his hand, then looked down and nodded when he saw there was a reply. Now he just had to work out what to say without sounding like some sort of psychotic lunatic.

“I need to ask your grumpy house-elf if I’m your nephew.” would not work. It was deleted.

“In-depth bonding session with Kreacher.” was just as bad. Also deleted.

“Sirius is such a dick.” might have been true, but it wasn’t helpful in the slightest and anyway, it didn’t answer Reg’s question. He was tempted to send it, but no, it was deleted as well.

Thinking was difficult right now. He bit at his lower lip as he tried to phrase his reply properly.

“Am I interuppting? I have questions and i wouldn’t bother you but they’re a bit urgent and your brother is such a dick.” was what finally got sent. The truth will out, after all.

“Reg is at Juno’s,” he told Sirius, then got his totem out and started flipping the poker chip across his knuckles just to have something to do. Apparently this was still real, still happening.

The response came back quickly. ”Of course he is, it’s his super special magical talent. I can help, what do you need?”

“This will sound strange but i need to tlak to Kreacher. and you but i’d rather speak faceto face.” Eames sent back.

The request was a bit odd, but then, this week had been all about the odd what with the time travel and all that. What was a bit of adding more Eames needing to talk to Kreacher odd on top of it all.

”Can I have ten minutes? And where am I meeting you?”

“Of course. we’re at yuours,” Eames replied, then rubbed at his eyes before pocketing his totem again. “He’ll be here in ten minutes,” he told Sirius, then slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

Sirius had slumped down to sit on the floor when the incessant texting had begun, wrapping the blanket a bit more firmly around himself and drawing his knees up to his chest. His head honestly felt like it might explode. Sirius didn’t get ill all that often, but when he did he made bloody sure everyone knew about it. He groaned at the ten minute pronouncement, letting his head fall back against the wall he was leaning against with a dull thud.

“Can’t we just go back to mine?” he grumbled. “Remus made weird soup.” And that way he could avoid the consequences of his seventeen-year-old selves antics. Not that there were any consequences, because he still didn’t believe the rubbish Eames was spouting. And he really, really didn’t want to talk to Kreacher. Did Eames not realise how much Sirius and that disgusting little elf hated each other? He wasn’t well enough to keep from throwing something at the snide little twats head.

Still, he also wasn’t well enough to argue his point, so he sat quietly with his eyes closed and wondered if he was going to drown in his own phlegm before Regulus graced them with his presence.

One minute shy of ten minutes Regulus pushed through the glass doors of Building C and found two very ill grown men pathetically propping up the wall of the hall outside his old flat. Sirius was even wrapped up like a burrito, and after a great sniffle from him Regulus would say a phlegm filled burrito. He looked from one to the other and back again and contemplated leaving them, because he was on holiday from continually dripping noses as far as he was concerned.

But it was Eames who had asked.

“Did you forget where your beds were? You don’t get to sleep in mine.”

Eames got back to his feet when he saw Reg approaching, noticing that his younger self was correct and Reg did indeed look an awful lot more like Arthur now. If Arthur was bearded, of course. He cleared his throat, which turned into a cough, then shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking to get into your bed any time soon,” he reassured the other man, “I just want to go inside your flat and ask some questions, and then... who knows. Sirius is here so that you don’t think I’m a mentaller when I start asking the questions, because it’s kind of his fault? Well, no, it is. I’m rambling again, I’ll shut up. Thank you for coming over here, though. Get up, Sirius, and don’t drool on my blanket, Jesus, that is disgusting.”

“How is this my fault?” Sirius grumbled. “It was four years ago!” But he grabbed Eames’ sleeve and used it to help him pull himself to his feet. Once vertical, he gave his no-longer-younger brother a look up and down. “You definitely look homeless,” he croaked, shrugging off the blanket and slinging it over his arm, sniffing miserably. Why was this happening to him? He just wanted to go home.

“Can we go in?” he urged, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, still clutching the blanket. “What’s the rule about smoking when you’re dying of cold?” He got a feeling he’d really need a cigarette if they were actually going to have this conversation. Especially if Kreacher was involved.

Clearly Regulus was missing something if Eames thought that Sirius’ presences would at a bit of mental stability to any discussion. The sheer will power it took to wrap his mind around that possibly was astounding. Not to mention the end result was frightening and a good reason to turn around and leave these two walking contagions to their own fluid downfalls. But then, Sirius never willingly went towards anything involving Kreacher, this might prove interesting, he could see where it would go for a bit.

“You’re wearing a blanket,” Regulus pointed out over his shoulder as he unlocked the door, “and you look like the wrong end of a bum’s second layer of clothes.” A stark contrast to his ever present standard uniform of a suit and tie.

He pushed the door wide for the two phlegm blobs and then asked when they’d both shuffled in, “Does this conversation require tea?” But, then, if Sirius was denying something so vehemently tea was invariably necessary, and Regulus was making his way to the kitchen before they had answered.

“All conversations require tea,” Eames replied, following after and playing with his totem as he walked... shuffled, whatever. He decided there was no point in beating about the bush, so he took as deep a breath as he could, coughed a bit and scowled at himself for being ill again. Running his free hand through his hair, he tried again. “It would seem that when Sirius was younger, he met my mother. They got quite friendly and ended up in bed together. Nine months later, I showed up. Mother was already married at that point, so this is hopefully nothing, but I thought Kreacher would know if... If I’m actually a Black. Even though Sirius is disowned, Kreacher would still know, is that correct?”

This was actually kind of horrible, Eames realised. Not because of his mother apparently being a bit of a slapper, or because of Sirius being... well. Sirius. His whole job centred around him being completely certain of who and what he was. He knew himself inside and out, forwards and backwards and if this was true, then he didn’t know himself properly any more. Which, to be honest, sounded more than a bit wanky, but there you had it. He didn’t know who he was any more.

“And yet, I’m still the better looking one,” Sirius replied quickly, before following Regulus into the flat. “Coffee?” he asked hopefully, chucking the blanket to one side and making himself at home on the sofa, picking up a game controller from where it was poking into the small of his back. Sirius gave the muggle gadget a confused look before tossing it to one side and starting to look around for as ashtray.

But then Eames was talking before Sirius had even found a mug he could use instead. Sirius sighed heavily, letting his head full of phlegm roll back against the back of the sofa. “I only met her about three times,” he mumbled, before he realised this probably wasn’t doing much to save himself. But it wasn’t like they’d even been dating or anything. He’d barely known her. Even though he was sure Eames wouldn’t want to hear it, Carol had just been one face in a long line of faces he’d encountered during those holidays, all blurring into each other. With a scowl he rolled onto his stomach, giving the other two a look over the arm of the sofa.

“Just so we’re all aware, this is completely mental.” He sighed, letting his head fall with a clunk onto the arm, pressing the sharp point of his nose into the cushions. “Can’t we just get drunk instead?” The animagus’s voice was almost completely muffled by the sofa. “It’ll be about a hundred thousand times less crap.”

Regulus just rolled his eyes at his brother’s statement. He didn’t have snot dripping from his nose, very telling about whom was the better looking at the moment. He was in the middle of pulling down three cups for tea and coffee when Eames explained all that. His hand froze as he set them down, a mixture of astonishment and confusion on his face, though it really shouldn’t surprise him his brother had messed up in this regards at least once in his life. How oddly coincidental that the result could possibly be Eames.

“So Sirius is an idiot, and we’re looking for confirmation,” Regulus didn’t try to stop the grin quirking at the corners of his mouth. “From Kreacher?” Oh that must be galling for his brother, and yet, quite the opposite for Regulus.

“Right,” the look on Eames face wiped the grin from Regulus’, clearly his prospective ‘nephew’ didn’t find this the least bit amusing. “You can finish tea for us and coffee for the mentally invalid on the sofa,” maybe doing something with his hands would help Eames in all this, “and I’ll go rouse Kreacher.”

“That’s about the height of it, yes,” Eames replied, then grabbed a tissue from his pocket and sneezed into it. “Oh, God, excuse me. Do me a favour and remind me never to go tree-diving again, would you? I don’t care what age I am, if I even hint at wanting to do it, stop me.”

The tissue was thrown in the bin, and then he was nodding at Reg’s request and making tea and coffee because it was easier to concentrate on that than on what Kreacher might be about to tell him. He wanted a cigarette, though. This oddly cheered him up a bit. When he’d had plague, he didn’t want to go near a cigarette. This time, he was only holding back because it was bad enough trying to breathe normal air, never mind smoke. Therefore, he couldn’t be as ill as he felt. Brilliant!

Without even thinking about it, he’d brought down another cup to make tea for Kreacher. He stopped when he realised, and then decided it might be best not to bring it in to the living room. He wasn’t blind, he was more than aware of how the elf felt about Sirius and the idea of giving him a weapon was not such a good one. He put the tea for Kreacher in its usual spot, and then carried the other three mugs into the living room to put on the coffee table. Slumping down beside Sirius, he groaned at the pain in his head and waited to see what would happen when Kreacher showed up.

Sirius looked up in time to see Regulus vanish into another room, and to hear the sounds of Eames starting to make the tea and coffee. “If we leave now,” he called into the kitchen, “We could go over to the Pottters. Lily could make pepper-up potion and the world would be right again!”

He let his head fall back onto the arm, twisting onto his side to wait for either his coffee or his untimely death. At the moment he wasn’t too bothered which came first, as long as it happened before Kreacher turned up.

Regulus had not been in these rooms in a number of years and it took him a moment to remember where exactly Kreacher slept, though only a cursory look of the room reminded him that he’d magicked a small room extension off one wall, equipped with its own small door. He crouched down and knocked on it. After a moment of shuffling the elf poked his head out, and as always for Regulus, he had a smile on his face. A lopsided, something easily mistaken for a grimace, smile.

“I need you to come out and verify something Sirius did.”

The smile fell to an actual grimace.

“Ya, I know, c’mon.”

The door slammed shut and some more sounds of rustling about ensued, but in a moment the elf was opening again. A grumbled acquiescence to Regulus’ request.

“Kreacher,” as Kreacher passed him Regulus shot a hand out to grab the elf’s shoulder gently, “I’m ordering you to not speak to anyone but me during this. Understood?”

He could see the elf working about the order in his mind, Regulus just knew Kreacher wanted the chance to lob insults at Sirius but Regulus wasn’t going to allow that to happen. He wouldn’t give his brother a reason to go after the elf.

When they walked back into the sitting room Sirius was in much the same position Regulus had left him in. Eames was now sitting next to the tragic invalid and three cups were on the coffee table. Regulus moved quickly to claim a mug and then the chair, the elf following him closely. Kreacher shot Sirius evil death glares the whole time but he didn’t say a word.

“Alright, ask your question Eames.” Kreacher looked at Regulus confused, clearly wondering how this was about Sirius.

Eames was nervous. He didn’t show it, but by Christ, he felt it alright. Sitting forward as Reg walked in, he lifted his mug of tea and watched Kreacher following him. He took a drink and nearly scalded the roof of his mouth, so he swore quietly under his breath and set the mug down again, not thinking at all about how he was actually putting this off.

“There’s tea for you in the kitchen, Kreacher. Also, uh,” and he paused to scratch behind his ear, which made him look down at his feet and he noticed that his trainers were getting quite scuffed and ...what? Ugh. He just needed to get this over and done with. Raising his head again, he got his totem out of his pocket without even thinking about it, and looked right at Kreacher “Sirius slept with my mother when she was already married to my... to William Eames. Then I was born. Can you tell if I’m related to Sirius and Regulus, and if so, am I?” His poker chip was flicking across his knuckles once more, and it didn’t stop when he finished speaking.

Sirius sat up like someone had just delivered a stinging jinx to his arse the moment Kreacher entered the room, feeling that all-too-familiar crawling of his skin that the elf’s presence always inspired. God, he was foul. And even if he wasn’t saying anything he was giving Sirius a look that spoke volumes, one that reminded him of the smell of dark, polished wood and dusty corners and screaming that echoed through long corridors. Sirius’ wand hand clenched in his lap, dark eyes locked poisonously with Kreacher’s boggling ones.

When Eames started talking Sirius jumped to his feet, squeezing his eyes tightly closed against the sudden throbbing in his head. Once he was recovered, he skirted around the edge of the room to the window, hauling it open so a breeze wormed into the room. Sirius slumped casually against the frame, arms tightly crossed over his chest, poisonous gaze fixed entirely on the elf. Of course, it was returned with just as much passion.

There were too many individuals for Regulus to properly focus on all at once. Eames was clearly, understandably distressed about this FUBAR regarding his paternity. Surprisingly so was Sirius. His flippant, disregarding move from the sofa to the window was telling for Regulus who’d had ten years of dealing with the older Black and could recognize his unease. Regulus wasn’t stupid enough to know it wasn’t just Kreacher’s presence. And Kreacher was having his own issues, the most pressing being not that he had to share a room with the older Black but that he’d suddenly become mute. Unless one counted the horrible look he was giving to Sirius and Eames, now, in turn each to be a screaming declaration of disgust.

The silence stretched uncomfortably until Regulus nudged Kreacher. The elf turned with a softened look towards Regulus, though only Regulus would consider it kinder. He still didn’t say anything.

“Well, Kreacher, is Sirius Eames’ father?” Though the telling look the elf was boring into Regulus gave it all away.

Bound by the order Regulus had previously given him Kreacher did not turn back to face the others but directed his answer to the only master he recognized, “Yes.”

Well, there was that.