Misery. Utter misery.

With a cough that raked through Ryder’s body, making his every muscle quiver and every tendon tense as both his hands stretched with the effort, knuckles turning pink, veins protruding like blue shreds of grass beneath his pale skin. The beads of sweat on his forehead, mixed with way his blood seemed frozen and his body heat beneath zero, were enough of an indication that he had a fever –and the small trace of blood that trickled like a slowly falling drop of rain down his chin was the tell-tale sign that something was terribly wrong. I’ll go with you, Balthazar had seemed worried, pale skin turned slightly pink and lines drawn beneath his eyes, as he’d watched Ryder prepare to apparate to Mungo’s –but the eighteen year old had decided his pride had already been mutilated enough this past week, and might not survive another beating. Now, as he tried to decide between grabbing at his brutally mangled head, or grip his aching throat, he regretted it; if Balthy were here, they’d sit together in the waiting chairs, and Ryder’d be able to rest his head on his best mate’s shoulder without the other deeming it suspicious –the topic of their snog having been decided as an taboo topic, not to be mentioned-, and Balthazar might even have helped to keep him warm with a casual –friendly- arm around his shoulders. Instead, Ryder was alone, with his blonde hair –golden under the harsh lights of the hospital- matted to the sides of his head, his fingers digging into his palms until the wrinkled skin became slightly red and he worried he’d leave a scar, and cough after cough dragging through his lungs, up his throat and through his mouth.

Alone. Like always.

He felt slightly somnolent, as his knees knocked together and the white tiles of the wall –that pristine white that was supposed to convey purity and health but which was probably a bitch to keep clean- gained a slightly silver coating to his eyes. It was his first time in Mungo’s: when one was rich and spoiled, Mother Dearest had the tendency to call a Healer over to the house, so that Little Baby Ryder wouldn’t have to get out of bed when sick. He’d been treated like a field of wheat, ripe for the sowing –but where most might have been grateful for the escape of such a smothering life style, Ryder only missed it. The easy way of life was the way he desired, and that was exactly the reason he found himself in his current predicament. With a slight wheeze, the eighteen year old pressed the heels of his hands into the black plastic of the chairs at either side of his hips, using his biceps –perhaps the only portions of his body with any remaining strength- to push himself into a straighter position. Even when sick, his hard taught lessons to keep his shoulders spread and find his center –his bloody chi-, his legs apart and all the other bollocks lessons he’d been taught over the years. But nobody had prepared him for this: nobody had informed him that one day he’d be so poor that calling a Healer to his house –or flat, in the current case- would be impossible; nobody had caressed his head as he lay in a small cranny between thigh and midsection and explained that his riches would not forever belong to him. Which meant only one thing: Ryder Renwick would simply have to win it all back. Not by labor, but by pure strength of will and his abilities to tear down any opponent.

Renwick.

It was an instant before he realized his surname was being called, and a second more before he managed to lift his head to see that blonde healer shouting out his name. “That would be me,” His voice was hoarse, dry like sandpaper, and his movements weak and clumsy –embarrassingly so- as he forced himself into a standing position. But he stood as tall as he could, slid his fingers into his waist and let his chest spasm as much as it wanted as he coughed again, and felt another drop of blood trickle down his chin as he stepped towards her. “I think I might be sick.”

Understatement of the freaking century.

So far today, Hadley’s only problem had been her shoes. The gosh-darn white boots that she had to wear as part of her uniform, they were annoying. Some days they felt too small, some days they felt too big; maybe someone was hexing her boots to do stupid things… and if she found out that somebody was, there was going to be a serious issue. After scratching down a few notes at the bottom of her paperwork, she picked up the next slip of paper. Another illness was awaiting her cure. She shrugged on her white jacket over the blue of her uniform, and found herself wishing that the day she was a healer would come sooner. It would, the promotion was definitely around the corner, and it was just a matter of time now.

She strolled out into the waiting room, trying to decipher the name that had been scrawled onto the paperwork. Renwick. She looked up around the waiting room, “Renwick?” She called lightly, it took a moment, but a man stood up. She tried not to cringe, but coughing up blood was never a good sign. Hadley waved him forward, “I’d expect ya’ll to be sick if you were in here, let’s go see what you’re problem is.” She smiled, and bit the inside of her lip lightly; she was going to have to snag a face mask before she started her evaluation.

Ryder Renwick was obviously experiencing a cold sweat, chills maybe. Coughing hard enough to rattle his body, blood… She didn’t want to rule out magical illnesses, but sometimes these things turned out to be bronchitis, or maybe pneumonia. It could be a strain of the flu as well, but Hadley would have to do a thorough check-up before she was sure. She turned around to lead him into one of the sectioned off rooms, and turned to take out a pair of gloves from her pocket. “You can sit right here for now, just for a bit, then we’ll situate you and you can lie down if you need to.” Her drawl was heavier at the end of the day when she was tired and not feeling up to trying to mask it. Besides, sometimes her accent drew a few chuckles or smiles from her patients, and there was no greater feeling than making a patient smile or feel better.

She pulled her face mask out of her pocket and secured it to her face, just a precaution. She clicked her pen, it was much easier to use a pen than a quill, and she’d grown up with pens. People looked at her funny, but she didn’t mind much. “Mr. Renwick, could you describe your ailment for me? A list of symptoms, when it started; whatever you can think of.”

Perhaps Ryder’s condition simply had gifted him a prissy attitude, but the way the blonde waved him forwards seemed a tad bit too gleeful in his opinion –like a young girl inviting a friend to play. The eighteen year old allowed himself a minute to scowl, before he was overcome by yet another fit of coughing. In between of it, she spoke –and her obvious American accent turned the coughing into a mixture with laughter. She had the usual southern drawl associated with wizards from the south of the US, a tinge to her voice that amused Ryder. He managed to smirk at her mischievously as he dragged himself to a stop. “Y’all don’t say,” He mimicked, almost perfectly, as he followed her into one of the rooms, and sat on the indicated gurney. With each words she spoke, his amusement grew –although his wheezing continued, and his entire body didn’t cease to throb painfully.

“Y’all don’t find it obvious?” His voice was actually a tad bit harsh, as she questioned about his symptoms –here he was, coughing like he was about to spit out his lungs, drenched in sweat and trembling as if it were freezing, but she wasn’t able to figure out his symptoms on her own. This was precisely why he’d never before came to Mungo’s. “Unless y’all,” His mocking southern drawl was savagely mean, his face screwed up with a mixture of mischief and plain mean intensity. “Have a cure for a broken heart, my symptoms are pretty damn easy to see. Even a trainee should be able to figure them out.”

Hadley knew when she was being sassed – and this little mister Renwick was sassing her. That did not matter though, the patient’s health came first. She bit the inside of her lip; she had dealt with patients that were far worse than him. She could handle his bad attitude and his messy disease. “Sir, I can see that you’re suffering from a harsh cough, and I can already hear you wheezing; I just wanted to know if anything else was ailing you.”

Gosh, the nerve of some people. She stiffened, she wasn’t used to people who were so damn rude right off the bat. But she figured maybe he was a genuinely okay person, and he was just off his game with this illness. At least she could amuse him and wind up that wicked smile with her accent, maybe it was taking his mind off of whatever was hurting. “Alright, alright. Just lay down please; so you’re experiencing a cold sweat, chills, and a wretched cough that’s bringing up some blood. And I’m guessing a fever,” she said, laying the back of her hand on his forehead. Yep, burning up, like she thought.

“Do you experience pain when you’re breathing?” She asked, her normally smile-adorned face warping into a look of serious concentration. “Or have you been short of breath lately?” At this point, Hadley was going for Pneumonia[1]. He had all the classic symptoms, unless this was a strange magical mutation of the infection.

1.	Just guessing with Ryder's symptoms. Let me know if it's something different. :)

There was a hint of annoyance on the woman’s face –barely present, but his eyes still trained in on it with a slight hint of satisfaction to his own gaze, as his ankles crossed and he coughed again. Bloody cold. “Like I said, only other thing bothering me is a broken heart,” He snapped. His words were part true, but that was hardly the matter, as he edged his fingers around the edge of the gurney and rolled his eyes at the trainee. “But I doubt someone of your profession is able to cure that –much less a little southern bell such as yourself,” His smiled, but it was far from pleasant and much closer to nastiness, and another bout of coughing accentuated his lack of comfort.

Against his better will, and quite repulse by his complacency, Ryder did as he was told and laid down, his skin wrinkling as she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead –if he hadn’t been sick, he was surely full of germs now. “Why, look at that,” He growled, as he folded his hands over his abdomen, awkwardly looking up at the ceiling. “Y’all are able to recognize my symptoms after all,” It was a relief when she pulled her hand away, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he wheezed.

“Or not,” He rolled his eyes, deciding to move into a sitting position once again as she asked about his breathing habits. “Not sure you noticed,” he commented, almost absentmindedly, yet entirely angry. “But I’m barely managing to breath at the moment,”[1] Ryder smacked his tongue against his bottom teeth. “Are all healers in this place as inadequate as you, or are you simply an exception due to being American?” The eighteen year old actually had no issue with Americans, but her nationality was simply another way to bother her.

1.	Whatever you want to diagnose him with is fine, considering with magical medicine it shouldn't be hard to take care of.

Oh, if only Hadley was allowed to straighten out her patients - someway, somehow... she would get this obnoxious boy to respect her, and her profession! Good Lord, it was the end of the day. The 'little southern belle' would have been glad to cure him right then and there so that she could finish up her caseload and drink her tea. No - not the tea like her coworkers drank, she couldn't get used to the bitterness yet - but the sweet tea like her Mimi made.

Momentarily distracted by the thought of home-brewed sweet tea, Hadley scrunched up her nose. "I'm sorry sir; just tryin' to grace ya'll with my Southern charm." She sassed, thinking she could fix Ryder up in no time and send him on his merry miserable way."Just keep inhaling, and exhaling. I’ll get you sorted out soon enough sweetheart.” She said with a smile, “You just sit tight; I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Luckily, these nasty cases of pneumonia and the flu were common at the moment. It was still wintertime, and Hadley had seen quite a large amount of full-blown sniffles and drips. She headed for where they kept the medicines and potions already created for some of these cases. She’d have to write Mr. Renwick a script for the pharmacy to prescribe him some other medication to bring home, but right now, it was her job to get this bug out of his system.

Carefully, she combed through the myriad of potions and elixirs and picked out two that were sure to get Ryder back to his healthy self again. She almost wished she had another potion up here that could create an attitude change as well. But hey, you get what you get and you don’t get upset.

After measuring out the correct dosages, Hadley carried the two vials back to Ryder and entered the room with a big, fricken’ smile plastered on her face. “Let’s see if we can scare this bug out of ‘ya, shall we?” She said, handing him the first elixir to drink. “The first one’s gonna taste nasty, and the second one shouldn’t be that bad. Just, plug your nose and swallow them both. All of them.”

“Oh, is that how breathing is done?” Ryder widened his eyes as if he’d just learnt something he hadn’t known before –but the sarcasm in his voice was enough to indicate his growing belief that this woman was useless. Deep down, he was aware she was just going about his job, but he wasn’t one to be kind to most people, and much less when he felt like dragon dung. “And here I always thought it was all about blinking,” He rolled his eyes as he wheezed through the words and wheezed again. The pet name she let out made him want to hex her, but instead he decided to use words to bite back. “Please don’t. Just send someone who knows what they’re doing.”

And then she was gone, and the eighteen year old was left sitting on the gurney feeling like death and wondering when she’d get back and just give him a freaking potion to make him feel better. The privately hired healers that had paid house calls tended to be much faster about the whole deal, and Ryder was feeling quite annoyed when the American returned. “I guess you either didn’t hear me, or you just rather not respect your patients requests,” he sneered, although his green eyes fell to the two vials she held.

“I’m not certain what they teach you in America,” He commented, as he accepted both potions. “But in your job, you’re supposed to heal –not play the part of a monster trying to scare a little childlike illness of with its yelling,” It was a weak response, considering what she’d meant had been quite clear. But he had to say something before following her orders: the first potion tasted like a dirty kelpie and the second only somewhat better. Still, he managed not to wince as he drowned them both down his throat. Then, he looked at her. “Now what?” He placed both vials besides him. “Just keep breathing through my ears?”

Being sick was enough to put anyone in a bad mood, and dealing with the sick was the same. Hadley wondered if Ryder Renwick was this sassy in the real world, and she also wondered what his heartbreak was about. She waited patiently as he took the vials and downed both of them. She picked up both empty vials and tucked them in her pockets, taking off her dirty gloves and replacing them before readdressing Mr. Renwick.

“Whatever floats your boat, sir. As long as you keep breathing.” She said with a grin, “Now, I’ve never treated heartbreak before… is there anything you normally do to fix that?”

For Hadley, chocolate and an ice cold beer would do the trick, but to each his own. She waited for a moment, filling out paperwork about what she’d administered to her patient while Ryder was left to answer her question. Ailment: Well, without a blood test she couldn’t have been positive, but Pneumonia or the Flu… she went with Pneumonia. “Is anything starting to get better? Any of your symptoms going away?”

Her question about mending breaking hearts made him roll his eyes. He wasn’t here for a psychologist, but for a Healer, and it’d been big enough of a mistake to joke about his Balthazar issue –he wasn’t going to get any deeper into that. “You’re the healer here, not me,” he snapped, yet another weak response –perhaps being sick just really made him incapable of any honest-to-goodness snarky answers that he could be proud of. “You tell me how to mend a broken heart –I’d imagine you rip open chests and do some spell?” He really wanted to get the bloody hell out of here.

Which made it quite a good thing that his wheezing seemed to be letting up, and he hadn’t coughed in at least five seconds –a new record. “I still feel like death,” He replied, with a shrug. “But I think the potions are reaping their effects a bit.”