Work Text:
“I’m getting divorced.”
Alastor reminded himself of the appropriate thing to say from the last time she’d gotten a divorce. “My condolences. Do you want to talk about it?”
Rosie narrowed her entirely black but somehow still so expressive eyes at him. “You don’t care about this.”
“I care about you.”
“Sure,” she said. Then, with a huff, “I don’t really know why I bothered telling you. Comfort isn’t exactly your department.”
“Because you’re a hopeless gossip and so am I.”
Rosie scowled at him with a measure of affection.
“And we’re friends and that’s a reasonable thing for friends to tell each other,” he said, smoothing it over. Then he repeated “Do you want to talk about it?”
He’d learned by now that sometimes if people didn’t say “no” right away they really did want to “talk about it” but needed a sense of “permission” to say yes.
“Really, Alastor, honey, do you care about this even a little bit?”
“I care about you!” this time it came out more pressurized and louder. He was growing angry.
Rosie raised an eyebrow at him. “Ah yes, yelling at me. A sure sign of care.”
“ I am trying! ” His voice was still raised. “I am trying to make you comfortable.”
Rosie looked confused at first, and then it gave way to some of her own anger. “I really don’t need a performance right now, Alastor.”
“It’s all a performance! But I am genuinely trying to react appropriately after taking the time to consider your feelings and you’re treating that like nothing.”
“I’m sorry, I’m supposed to feel better by you saying it’s all a performance?”
“Yes!”
Rosie stared at him for a moment and then scoffed. “Typical.”
“ Yes , it is! This is in fact part of the basis of our friendship!”
That stopped Rosie in her tracks. “I suppose it is,” she admitted after taking a moment to mull it over. “Is it really all fake to you?”
“No. I wouldn’t bother asking if you wanted to talk about it if I didn’t care about you.” Rosie waited for more. “I remembered how you reacted poorly to my reaction last time, and I sought to avoid that. And you’re… angry about that.” Rosie looked away from him for a second. “That’s work, darling. And instead of recognizing that for what it is you’re… upset that I put in work for you?”
“I don’t want caring about me to be work.”
“Caring about you in the abstract is like breathing. Actioning that care in forms recognizable to you is… not.”
Rosie took a second to take that in.
“Okay.” She smoothed her skirt down. “Thank you for putting work in, Alastor.”
“ Thank you,” Alastor said appreciatively. “Now, how might I be able to help you feel better?”