Closed replaying events

[Alistair MacKenzie]

Alistair could not say he fully understood what he had done when he'd left Monty Pendleton's home. He had intended on heading right back the next day with the desire to apologise, only, as things often did, they piled up and it meant it had now been several weeks before he was able to find the time, or break himself free rather, enough that he would be able to stop by the man's home once again. That was the difficulty of being an adult of course, it was trying hard to find the time to do the things required of a person. Not to say that Alistair didn't enjoy being an adult, because he most certainly did, but there was also the hardly hidden truth that he would often remember his youth fondly enough to wish he could be back there again.

As he approached Monty's home, Alistair took a deep breath. His thoughts swirled with uncertainty, not fully grasping what had caused the tension between them but knowing an apology was necessary. He raised his hand to knock on the door but hesitated for a moment, considering his words carefully. When the door opened, Alistair offered a small, hesitant smile. "Monty, hullo," he began, his tone sincere. "A hope Ah'm no' intrudin'. Ah wanted tae come by an'... well, Ah suppose tae apologise. Ah'm no' entirely sure whit Ah did tae upset ye, but Ah regret that it's taken me this long tae come back an' address it." He shifted slightly, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension. "I've been caught up wi' work, but that's nae excuse. If I've done somethin' to hurt or offend ye, I want tae make it right."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty had been on edge for most of the weekend, but he knew it was bad when a knock at the door startled him. It didn't help that he'd been standing just a few metres away, measuring a gap between the hallway table and the living room door, but still - he hadn't felt a jolt like that for years. Two steps forward, one step back. That was how it was always going to be. He'd accepted that, or tried to, but it troubled him all the same. All it took was one stressful week, and his anxiety went through the roof. What if one day, it didn't come down again? What if this time, he'd gone all the way back to square one?

He was doing it again. Catastrophising. Well, at least these days he recognised it for what it was. That sort of progress could never be undone.

"Oh - hello," he said, upon opening the door. So much had happened since Alistair's visit, he had almost forgotten about their awkward chat. Occasionally, when he was in the middle of something tedious, or when he looked at the restored books on his shelf, his mind did fetch one particular comment and begin to wonder again - but it hardly seemed serious enough to warrant a visit over here to apologise. Still, Monty let Alistair speak without interrupting. Clearly it had been on the forefront of his mind, and it was important to him now that he make amends.

"No - no, you haven't offended me. Well, not seriously. Did you really come over here just to apologise?" Monty wondered if he ought to invite him in, but realised he couldn't. He was feeling far too sensitive; it would only lead to some new misunderstanding, he was sure. "I appreciate that, Alistair, but you needn't have gone to the trouble. It was something very small - some minor remark by your old school friends, that's all. Bit of a sore subject. No harm done, though. None whatsoever. I'll still be in touch when I need some more books restored." Though he laughed, cynically he wondered if that was the real reason Alistair had come. For business. His apology seemed genuine enough, but when had Monty ever been a good judge of character?

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

Generally, Monty's response confused him, specifically, it surprised him. He set back to remembering the minuscule conversation they'd had but he couldn't for the life of him pick out what had been said. He then wondered if it might not have been specifically what he'd said and more to what he had remembered by a remark Alistair had said instead, which really didn't clear anything up at all. To be fair, there was not much of what Alistair remembered of Monty now present in the man and though he might not have changed all that much outwardly, physically - he had certainly changed enough mentally or even emotionally perhaps that whatever was on his mind currently alluded the man. That was to be expected, he supposed, but it still didn't tell him what actually had happened. He felt a bit awkward standing out here though, and even though he wouldn't dare assume that whatever day Monty had been having might have been about him, there was no denying the fact that he did in fact look slightly frazzled.

"Well, aye, I had, and ye seem tae have completely bowled it o'er on me since ye took it all in stride," he said, unsure now what he should do. He didn't begrudge Monty at all, in fact he was rather pleased to have learned that he'd not seriously offended him, but there was clearly something on his mind, they didn't have the kind of relationship (none at all really) where he could ask such a thing, but it did bother him that he appeared to be stressing over something and if it was not him, (relievedly) than it must have been something else. He wanted to ask, but how could he do so when, again, he had essentially no relationship with him? Well, how did one go about gaining relationship points? Asking questions right?

Couldn't hurt.

"Ah hope ye don't just want tae talk tae me aboot books, Monty. Ah would rather like a chance tae be yer friend if ye'll allow me. An' on that note, actually – are ye alright?" He wanted to know what remark had been a bit of a sore subject, but he wasn't about to bring it up now when there was clearing something more pressing on the mind.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty had not, in fact, taken it in his stride, and standing there clutching the edge of the door, he realised Alistair's remark was one of a number of things that had been weighing on him lately. What with Rowan, and the house viewings, and the start of the new school term, he'd been distracted, certainly, but the comment must have affected him, because he was reluctant to speak to Alistair even now. Then again, he had always been reluctant to speak to anybody who'd known him at school. He contrived not to bump into them, and if he did, he made quick excuses to leave. This was why. He had been an entirely different person, then - withdrawn, confused, and bitterly angry. Anybody who'd known him at fifteen would have to discard an image of him so vividly painted, it would be like trying to unlearn the alphabet.

Alistair would never forget it all. He could try, but there would always be something to remind him. Betting on whether he'd get himself killed before thirty - Monty's life had been a joke to him, as it had, apparently, to everyone. It was better he leave them all behind. Close the door. Move on.

Yet... Alistair had asked if he was all right. Was his distress so obvious? No - he had gotten better at hiding it lately. He didn't need Mary Lou to start worrying, or Kata, or Ava. What was it then that made Alistair ask? And how much did he really want to know? They weren't strangers, or even acquaintances, but they weren't quite friends, either. Whatever they were, it couldn't be defined in a word.

Something softened. "I'm better than I have been for a long time," Monty said, which wasn't a no, but it wasn't a yes, either. And suddenly he remembered how easy Alistair had been to talk to. It could be that easy again, if he let him in.

"Do you still like green mint tea?"

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

"I-Yes,"

Alistair was rather stumped if he were to describe the emotions he was sure were rearranging on his face. He wasn't sure what he had expected the answer to be, but as he stepped inside, taking great care not to look around on the off chance that had been what disturbed the man last time, he wondered once again how the man before him had changed from the boy he'd known in his youth. There were many expressions he was sure would be showing on his face even now, though he wouldn't dare to try and guess at which ones, but that was entirely the problem he'd always had. His emotions had always shown rather obviously on his face. It had been part of the problem with both Glenn and Laura since he wasn't able to hide his thoughts from them for long, no matter what he might have tried in the past. Sometimes he wished he'd continued in his transfiguration studies to be come an animagus as he'd originally planned. Ah - the regrets of youth.

He followed Monty into the kitchen, and stood sort of awkwardly by the entrance. It was a little frustrating to be on the back foot like this, he'd intended to come and apologise and he knew what he was supposed to do with that but nothing about the interaction he'd had with Monty so far was telling of, well, anything. And he hadn't a clue with which he was supposed to continue forward from here. Did Monty want company or was he simply being polite and was his presence unwelcome? He didn't even want to ask for fear of Monty throwing him out. Monty had said he was better than he had been in a long time, but to Alistair's admittedly untrained eyes, he seemed sort of... well, he wasn't sure what the term was, overwhelmed perhaps? Did that mean that he used to be worse? How much worse?

The thoughts raced passed almost faster than he could grasp them, and Alistair found it difficult not to sigh, though he managed to keep internal, he hoped. He wanted to help, if he could, but their lack of any sort of relationship for the last nearly fifty years hampered that desire entirely. They'd been spread across the world, most of them, and this was exactly what Laura had told him about when she'd warned him he was often bothersome to others. It wasn't his fault he had a keen eye for distress and had an obsessive need to fix broken things, not that he considered Monty to be broken, but there was definitely something in the tension that was broken, and he wanted to mend it however he might. He just needed to know what the tension was.

"Surprised ye'd remember that, actually," maybe not all that surprising given Alistair suddenly remembered Monty's allergy to shellfish and cats, causing him to suddenly check his jacket for any hairs that might have attached themselves to his clothing from his last client visit. He didn't think so, but he'd give himself a brush down with a freshening spell the moment it didn't seem inelegant to suddenly whip out his wand in the home of another.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty didn't know what he was doing. Not two minutes ago, he'd told himself he wouldn't invite Alistair in, and now here he was brewing the man a cup of his favourite tea. Or at least, it had been his favourite tea once. Monty was surprised he'd remembered too. It had come to him quite spontaneously, and even now, he couldn't remember when he'd learned it, or why. He vaguely recalled a library table, a tall lead-paned window, a column of steam. The smell of old books and peppermint. But that was all.

God - why had he let him in? Nothing good could come of this. He should have stood firm, kept Alistair at the door. His heart was racing. Why was his heart racing?

"Sorry," Monty said, realising he hadn't yet replied. He brought Alistair's tea to the table, forcing a smile. "I've just been tired, today, and your visit surprised me. Sorry." Was that all? Or was there something else? It felt like there was something else, but he was struggling to remember. Maybe he should sit down. He would sit down, if he could, but his will to move was failing. And why couldn't he think of anything to say? He gripped the back of the kitchen chair, fighting a wave of nausea that had sprung on him from nowhere.

It's like the feast, he thought suddenly. Alistair had noticed him then, too. What was it he'd said? Had he even spoken? Or had he taken Monty - Richard, then - out into the courtyard, and sat with him on the step? It could have been someone else, or no-one at all. The memory was out of focus. But it might have been Alistair; he was always very kind.

They had almost been friends. They'd talked, and though Monty couldn't recall everything they'd talked about, he remembered a mutual feeling of trust. A sense that they could tell each other anything without judgement. Why did it feel like no time had passed at all? It had been fifty years. They were total strangers.

Monty cleared his throat. "You said work was busy. That's good, yes?" There was no natural flow between this topic and the last. It was as if, during the pause, Monty had had an entire conversation with Alistair in his head, and resumed speaking out loud somewhere near the end of it. He just didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to think about school any more. Easier said than done, when he was standing in front of his former dorm mate, but he was doing his best - and almost sweating with the effort of it.

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

Alistair remembered this.

Monty had always had that weird compulsion to apologise for his own discomfort. He didn't remember it being quite so prominent, sure, but it had always been there. He remembered it because it happened a lot when they were rooming together. The boys all thought it was funny for a time, but Alistair had always sort of known what it was, even if Monty didn't. Losing his parents as early in his life as he had, being raised by his sister the only real role-model and fixture in his life, it hadn't come as obviously to him as it might have to other people but he'd always been something of an investigator deep down. He liked to know things, figure them out, understand why someone's behaviour was the way it was and despite the awkwardness of the moment and the tiny nagging feeling in the back of his neck that told him he should leave Monty to his devices, he also didn't get the exact feeling that he was being completely shut out. He was making Monty uncomfortable, that much seemed obvious, but it also came with the thought that perhaps it wasn't him specifically making him uncomfortable either.

"I'll make sure tae send a note next time," which is probably what he should have done, but he also hadn't wanted to run the risk of Monty casually forgetting and going out instead. He didn't think Monty was that kind of person, but it had also been several decades of growth and change for the both of them that anything mildly recognisable was mostly through reminiscence. He wasn't the boy he'd been in his youth and he doubted Monty was either. Still, the least he could do was stopping intruding on the man's home, since that seemed to have been what had started it out. Perhaps it wasn't just that, Alistair could remember himself how protective of his things he was that he didn't like other people touching them. Glenn had once suggested he was something of a hoarder, which might have been true if he bothered to show anyone his home - which he didn't, because he was a hoarder... kind of.

He shook his head, picking up the tea to take a sip of it and closing his eyes. Tea made by someone else always seemed so much better than the tea he made on his own, but Laura wasn't a tea drinker and so asking her to make him one, or expecting her to do so whenever he'd be invited over meant that he often went great periods of time making it on his own with no one to share the comforts of a tea with. Glenn and he didn't often see each other if at all, and he didn't have all that many surviving relationships outside of either of those two, so the chance to reconnect with Monty was a special one. He hoped they could figure out what the tension between them was so they could move past it, he didn't want to be in the position where he would have to pull back from a friendship because it wasn't working. "Forgive me, I'm intrudin' on yer space," he said suddenly, the threads clicking together through the awkwardness of the scenery; "would ye prefer tae step oot intae the garden? Ah could use the fresh air," he wasn't sure whether it was the right call to put it back on Monty or on himself, so he'd in a way, tried to catch both threads and twine them together, but he supposed he would see how that worked out.

"A'll bring ma tea," to help settle his nerves.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty shrugged. A note would have been nice, but he knew that this - whatever this was, exactly - was an overreaction. It had just been such a long time since he'd thought about it all. He'd banked his memories in the naïve hope he would never have to withdraw them, only to discover they had accrued a terrible emotional interest. No, this anxiety was not Alistair's fault; it was a consequence of running, as was his habit, from things he did not feel strong enough to face.

But he had changed. He did not want to run any more. He wanted to feel, even if it hurt him at first, so that he could finally slow down and appreciate his surroundings. Besides - where else could he run to? He had run all the way to the other side of the world, and still the past had caught up with him. Hiding had made him equally, if not more miserable; he could never live that way again. The only option was to turn and face this. Properly. The only problem was, he didn't know what that looked like. Confronting it all at once was bound to overwhelm him, and he had to keep it together if he had any hope of rekindling this friendship. And he did have hope. Though his memory was fuzzy, one sentiment was strikingly precise: he had always wanted to be friends with Alistair MacKenzie.

Boundaries. Yes. He'd start there. He didn't want to admit it so candidly, but Alistair's presence did feel like an intrusion - not just of his physical space, but of a boundary he had forgotten to respect for himself. He had been silly to ignore the voice that told him to keep their conversation at the door. Alistair, astute as he had ever been, recognised it himself without any prompting, and his suggestion to move to the garden was met with visible gratitude.

"Yes. No - actually, let's go for a walk," Monty said. The garden was better, but it was still an extension of his space, and therefore his boundary. He needed to get away from here altogether. "Don't rush your tea - we can finish them in the garden, and then go."

This was exactly what they did. It was a bright, cloudless day, and despite a recent rain, the trail near Monty's house was dry and fit for walking. The track was flanked with vibrant yellow gorse and broom, so dense in some places it obscured the neighbouring fields. They had not been walking for long when Monty said, "I came over here to get away from it all." An orange butterfly zig-zagged across the path up ahead. "To make a fresh start for myself. I thought, if nobody knew me, I could be - well, whoever I wanted to be. Nobody would know it was all a big act. Sorry - tell me if I'm oversharing." Monty had never been a great judge of that, either. But he wanted to continue. "Running into you again - I feel exposed. That's what it comes down to, Alistair. You know how I was."

They had reached the top of an incline, and now they had a lovely view of the green pastures which surrounded them. "Anyway. I don't want to think about that. Tell me more about yourself. Did life turn out the way you expected?"

Godmod approved

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

Alistair had learned rather a lot in six decades, two of them he'd spent in two different marriages that hadn't worked out. One of the things he'd learned in those six decades and two marriages was that people could not always properly communicate the things they needed to communicate in ways that were affective for all parties. Clearly, since he had two failed marriages. He wasn't an expert on relationships, and he certainly wasn't a very good conversationalist if his ex-wife was anything to go by, but he wanted to try, for Monty. He felt as though he owed the man that much, starting to repay whatever debt he might have incurred in his youth. That was one of the terrible things about youth, you could make as many mistakes as you wanted, and most of the time you could grow out of them, but sometimes the mistakes you made weren't just footnotes, but pages and chapters in other peoples books and he'd clearly dropped a couple of pages out of the biography of his time in school for this to have even started.

He sipped his tea as he followed slightly behind and to the left of Monty, giving the man time to focus on what he was trying to say and why. Alistair didn't want to barge in on half formed thoughts. He had been good at doing that a lot when he was younger and it was a habit he was trying to grow out of. It could be ever so difficult. "Aye, ye're no' oversharin'," he said, hoping he sounded even a little encouraging.

When Monty finally came to his point, Alistair nodded. He could understand that. He was going to respond, but Monty said he didn't want to talk about it, and so Alistair would respect that. Perhaps he could circle back to this at a later point, but the fear of overstepping, bulldozing yet another boundary kept him to himself, and he smiled instead as he asked about whether things had gone the way he'd expected for his life. For a moment Alistair just stared into his tea, and then smiled. "No' a single thing in ma life went the way I thought it would," he said, the grin getting bigger. "Marriet Laura, dinnae ken if ye mind her, but we got divorced 'cause I cam oot as gay." he said, shrugging. That wasn't really a revelation, because as it turned out, it hadn't been true."Got marriet a second time tae a braw man named Glenn, but we got divorced when I realised I wasnae gay either," things sometimes just didn't go the way the people planned, but he'd learned that was okay. "It’s just me noo."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty hoped Alistair wouldn't push him to elaborate, and he didn't. Neither of them needed reminding of their time at Hogwarts. It had been awful for Monty and uncomfortable, at best, for everybody else. Even thinking about it made him feel sick, so he latched onto the sound of Alistair's voice, summoning a face to match the mentioned name. Yes, he remembered Laura. That she and Alistair had married was quite a surprise, but not half as surprising as the revelation he was gay. Monty would never have guessed it. Then again, he'd given very little thought to his peers' sexuality. He'd been too busy worrying about his own.

The story took another unexpected turn. Not gay, either? Asexual, perhaps? The way Alistair talked about it all so calmly, as if he were remarking about the weather, made Monty feel strangely sad. He'd never been able to have a conversation about such things without shaking. Anyway - divorced twice. That was very unfortunate. They were both far too old for platitudes, so Monty simply said, "I'm sorry to hear that." Then, after a moment, "Do you keep in touch?" It wasn't the question he'd really wanted to ask, but it was the one that felt safe. He'd pushed himself too far today already.

 

[Alistair MacKenzie]

Alistair shrugged. People often said they were sorry to hear of this failed marriages, but perhaps failed was not the correct term for them. It had been no one's fault really that they failed, well, he supposed in a way it was his, but Laura and Glenn had simply married a man they loved, and whilst Alistair too loved them, he was unable to provide for them in all ways they needed, and that lead to the dissolution of those marriages. "It's nae mair than just whit it is, unfortunate, but... expected in the end," he said, taking another long sip of his tea. He did indeed keep in touch with Laura at least, and he saw Glenn on occasion, but he didn't have much to do with him. It wasn't that surprising though, Glenn was a very proud sort of a man and when the marriage had broken down, though it had been amicable in the end, it had not been so amicable in the beginning.

"Aye, I’m still pals wi' Laura. She’s got grandkids now, but I dinnae see them much," he said, shaking his head. "She likes tae ken when ah'm in the country, we hae breakfast." she was like that sometimes, she liked to make sure he wasn't getting himself into trouble. She would probably love knowing about Monty, he'd never got the feeling Laura liked Monty very much, but that was her own problem, Alistair liked Monty very much and she was going to have to get over her jealousy of him having other friends. They were sixty-three and had not been married in almost forty years. "What about you?" he remembered the photo in the living room, but something about it had put Monty a little on edge, he recalled, and he was hesitant to bring it up now.​