"It's fine, Ru. I'm fine. It's no big thing," Angus said, trying to look alright, trying to make it alright. "This isn't my room..."
"He's trying but he's only about half focused, Ruby," Nigel told her. "That's the muggle drugs. They take hours to wear off. Actually, he's doing very well for all he's been through today." They tucked him into bed, and Marcus knew Angus was extremely restless here. He knew Angus would not want to chase Edward out of his room."
"Angus," Marcus said, covering Angus, "this was Edward's plan. I'll explain it later, for now, let's just not try to go uphill against Edward, shall we? You know how he gets, and consider this. If you're here, Ruby won't be all uprooted out of your room with healers buzzing in and out for the next couple days. This might well be a good deal better for her."
"Angus," Nigel said, "you need some rest, but I know they've got food ready. You need to try to stay awake long enough to get a meal..."
"I ate earlier," Angus said quietly.
"That was hours and hours ago, Mate," Marcus said gently. "You should try to eat just a little. Then you can sleep." Angus didn't want any food. His drugged brain was racing about as fast as it was capable of going at the moment, and the realizations that were coming to him were making him sick in every cell he had. She had been fine. She had gotten better--until she had come back to him. Jeffrey had her better, and then she came back home--to him. And now she was like this again. Angus believed that it was him, him and his selfish lifestyle as a fighter and his inability to give it up, that had caused her all this damned damage. It was him. He'd 'broken' her.
"I can't stay," he told Marcus quietly.
"You've got it wrong, Mate," Marcus said.
"I don't think so. Look at the facts...She's a good mom. She can make a go of it with the kids, but I'll...I don't know...I..."
"Angus," Robert sat on the edge of the bed, "look at me and try to focus in. You have never, in your entire life, had muggle medicines til now. I am sorry I had to use them today, because all our magic, everyone's, was on the blink. I had no choice. If I hadn't, you'd have bled out and died..."
"And maybe I should have..."
"Listen. You have to listen," Robert said quietly. "You absolutely cannot make any decisions like this. You'll regret every one of them. She needs time and so do you. You owe that to her, and you owe it to yourself. And, beyond all that, you owe that to every one of the six kids that are in your care. They depend on both of you. For now, just for a couple days, give this to me. Let me have it. You're going to have to rest whether you like it or not." As Robert was speaking, Nigel touched Angus, and Angus felt a strong wave of calm run through him, and his eyes fluttered shut.
"Right now, you're not in any condition even just to decide whether you have milk in your tea or not, much less anything else, Son," Nigel told Angus. "I have to make you step back from this. You're going to rest now, one way or another. When you're able to talk about this, I'll allow it, but, believe me, that isn't going to be today."
Marcus saw the soda and the glass with ice, and he cracked it open and poured it for Angus.
"Here. Looks like Ruby left you a soda. I'm sure you're thirsty." He helped him with several sips of it."
"Fluids are good for him right now, and I don't care what he drinks so long as it isn't alcohol," Nigel said. "Whatever you can get him to drink. I'll go see what they have cooking. He should eat a little bit while he's awake, even if it's just a little."
Nigel went downstairs and saw the food sitting out on the sideboard in the dining room. He got a large pasta bowl and he spooned some of Rosaria's cheesy polenta in the bottom of the bowl and put a chicken breast over top as Rosaria came in with a large tossed salad and set it out as well. She asked Nigel if it was for Angus, and when he nodded, she snatched the bowl from him and took two forks and shredded the tender chicken breast so that he wouldn't have to battle cutting it with one arm, chiding Nigel the entire time about how he clearly didn't know how to prepare a serving of food for someone with one hand. Nor did she think he had any idea of how to care for 'her boy' that she had mothered and cared for almost his entire life. When she had the bowl prepared to her satisfaction, she shoved the bowl back at Nigel and picked up a fork and spoon and shoved them into his other hand and waved him off sternly. He cast her a raised eyebrow, not accustomed to anyone thinking they dare treat him that way, and then he simply turned to walk back upstairs.