Porch Light
The kitchen door slams shut just as Charlie rounds the corner. He quickly scans the figures at the kitchen table: his father, George, Ginny, Tonks and Bill. His mother stands by the far cupboard, and one look at her worn face confirms what he'd already figured out; it's Oliver that's running pell-mell through the Weasley garden in the pale hours before dawn.
Charlie follows without a word to his family, grabs a coat off the peg by the door and starts running towards the west -- he can hear the gnomes that Oliver has disturbed screaming bloody murder.
He slows down for a moment when that notion sinks in. Bloody murder, that's exactly what this all came back to, didn't it? Claire had been ambushed hours earlier in Kent -- ambushed and murdered without prejudice by the sycophantic and misguided supporters the Dark Lord. Oliver Wood had been with her at the time, had brought her broken body back to Grimmauld Place, had answered all their questions clearly and quickly, all the while his eyes shockingly devoid of shock or grief.
Charlie wonders if anyone else had noticed, or even cared. Well, he noticed, he cared. That's why Charlie had brought Oliver back to the Burrow with him that night. He wanted to keep a close eye on the not-so-much-younger man. Charlie has been waiting for the invitable break. They've all been down the same path, seen many of the same horrors, after all. It was just a matter of time before Oliver, recently added to their number, broke as well. Charlie has always intended on being there to pick up the pieces when it finally happened, as if Oliver was his own personal, life-size Humpty Dumpty.
Charlie slows down when he catches sight of Oliver, standing silent and watchful at the edge of the wood.
Not wanting to spook him, Charlie approaches with something less than stealth. He watches Oliver closely for any sort of reaction. When he sees Oliver's head turn ever so slightly around he takes it as a good sign and comes close enough to lay a comforting hand on Oliver's shoulder. It seems to be what he needs to let go, for as soon as Charlie touches him, Oliver breaks into body wracking sobs, the kind that they've all grown too familiar with since the start of the war.
Suddenly the single hand on Oliver's shoulder seems too little, so Charlie does what feels natural and slides his arms around Oliver's body, cradles it back against his own and lets Oliver cry and shake against him.
Finally the sobs subside and Charlie murmurs words of comfort into Oliver's ear. In return, Oliver whispers shocky, disjointed cries into Charlie's neck as dawn draws near, pink sky licking at the grey and black of night. By the time there is enough natural light so they can walk back to the Burrow without intruding upon any more gnomes, Oliver has stopped shaking but is far from settled.
Molly is the only one up when Charlie drags Oliver into the kitchen. It is doubtful she ever went to sleep in the first place. Ignoring an all-knowing look from his mother, Charlie guides Oliver into the fireplace, throws the Floo powder at his feet and calls the address for Oliver's flat.
Once there it is surprisingly easy for Charlie to get Oliver into bed. Under any other circumstances Charlie would be ready with a smart remark, and quite possibly, when Oliver wasn't paying attention, a look that spoke volumes. But these aren't other circumstances, and Charlie just wants to make sure that Oliver gets to sleep sometime before mid-morning.
He helps Oliver out of his shirt, taking perhaps more time than necessary easing the worn fabric off of Oliver's broad shoulders. He undoes the laces on Oliver's boots, kneeling on the floor as Oliver tries to balance above him, none too steady on his own even with a steadying hand on Charlie's shoulder.
He tries to remain clinical throughout. Charlie has wanted to do these very things for so long, to take time and care with things that Oliver haphazardly rushes through. But the clinical resolve breaks when Charlie stands up again and reaches to undo the button on Oliver's trousers. He can feel the heat radiating off the skin of Oliver's abdomen, just scant centimeters away. The knot in Charlie's chest tightens as he flicks open the button and then slowly works the zipper down. He knows he's made a mistake when he raises his head only to find Oliver's gaze focused intently on what he'd been doing. Charlie smiles weakly, hoping to brush off anything untoward that Oliver might've noticed, only to find that Oliver doesn't look disgusted so much as intrigued and pleased.
He breathes Oliver's name but then the same breath catches in his chest as Oliver leans ever so slightly forward and their lips meet. It is a simple kiss and Charlie relishes the way Oliver's lips melt against his, in the way that it feels like he's being pulled into Oliver with no safety net in sight. As Oliver pulls away, smiling, Charlie realizes that for as much as he planned on saving Oliver, he might need saving as well.