It was an infection that got Beau transferred from the front to the Jeanne D’Arc Hôpital pour Malades et Blessures Magique. There were too many wounded--thanks to the mix of magical and nonmagical weaponry and tactics Grindelwald used on the field of battle--and too few medics to tend them all, too little of the supplies they needed. Of course, his wound had never been magical, but it would have been too much of a risk to send him to any nonmagical hospital in Paris. Too many questions that could breach the Statute of Secrecy.
It added weeks to his recovery, but recover Beau did. Albeit slowly. What else could he expect? He’d been shot in the chest. Such things took time to heal, whether by magical or nonmagical means.
Though perhaps knowing who his soulmate was now--and sending almost daily missives back and forth by owl--had a hand in his recovery. It had certainly had a hand in his survival in the first place.
The thought of Percival, and knowing his soulmate was still alive and relatively safe as the war appeared to be drawing to a close--it seemed Grindelwald’s tactics had lost the dark wizard as many of his own troops as those against whom he fought, and the French and American troops fighting the battles on French soil had won more battles of late than they’d lost; they were pushing Grindelwald’s forces back--made Beau smile like a lovesick fool.
He didn’t even know whether the soulbond would result in love--either romantic or platonic--and yet he couldn’t help but act as though it might.
This far from Percival, Beau’s soulmark didn’t glow--not often, and not in the same beacon-like way it did with his soulmate near. Only in that same soft, ember-like glow as Belle had shared with Percival, that of a twin’s mate, rather than one’s own.
That was how the crimson phoenix emblazoned on Beau’s forearm glowed the morning he was to be released from the Jeanne D’Arc Hôpital, not yet fully healed, but well enough that he would recover better at home than in a hospital cot.
As happy as he was to see his family--as much as it lightened his heart that Adam had come with Belle to bring him home--Beau’s joy was tinged with sadness and some disappointment that his own soulmate wasn’t there. He understood, of course. Percival was an important man, a high-ranking officer and official, and it was likely he was involved in something he couldn’t get away from.
It’s okay, Beau told himself, unconsciously rubbing his thumb over his soulmark in a self-soothing gesture. He could send Percival an owl once he was settled in at home. It wouldn’t be the same as having him there, but it would have to be enough.
He didn’t register the warmth blossoming in his chest--not his own emotions, but his soulmate’s--until he saw the impish smirk on Belle’s lips and the twinkle in her eye, focused on the mark now clearly visible through the thin cotton of his hospital pajamas’ sleeve.
He glanced briefly in surprise at his arm, then looked past his gathered family--and the grin that suddenly broke out upon his lips felt wide enough as to split his face in two.
