Afternoon, Emergency Ward


Balfour Spectre sat on the edge of a made bed in the ward, khaki shirtsleeves mostly unbuttoned from his examination on the first floor. The irises of his normally blue eyes were a veiled by a cloud of milky white substances and so it was through this that he saw the world now - a thick mist through which nothing could be discerned.

He wiped the sweaty palms of his hands against the thighs of his dark jeans, all at once irritable and nervous; they had given him the once-over downstairs to ensure that none of the Manticore venom would produce a lethal effect but his inability to see had been of some confusion.

Mediwitches at the dock[1] had administered the correct antidote but it did not seem to be working as expected, and so he was up here to ensure that the blindness was not a permanent side-effect of the medicine.

The division head was, fortunately, not alone.

"I hate hospitals," Balfour remarked gloomily to Grigory, who had pulled him out of the way from being entirely stung by the Manticore that morning - a sting in his bloodstream would have outright killed him.

Might have served him right too, trying to talk down a beast like that. All the same - he was grateful to be alive and now only harboured a terrible fear that the last thing he would have seen in his life was the snarling jaws of an animal, sunlight glinting off the blue water of a loch.

In his mind's eye, Balfour tried to fix the face of his lover instead. He run a hand through his curls and turned his head slightly to the side: where he supposed Gonchar was standing. "What's the hour?"

1.	Beast Division Misadventure - Daily Prophet Article

"Healer Hollingbury, you've got a patient waiting for you.  Manticore attack. The mediwitches gave him antidote but his eyes are still badly affected."

"Sounds like Creature-Induced Injuries to me." Arcturus took the file from the hovering mediwitch. "Why aren't they-- ah. Poison. I figured." He didn't point out that his floor specified potion and plant poisoning, but this wasn't the time and place. He flipped through the pages, of which there were few, but the handwriting did overflow a little and the continuation scattered. "Alright, I see. Where are they now?"

"Out on the floor, patient's on the beds. He appears to be capable of sitting up."

"Yes." Sometimes the mediwitches and mediwizards out on the floor could do with being less obvious about certain things. He could see said patient from where he was. A fairly distinctive patient, for personal reasons.

At this time, however, Arcturus was not up to the task of considering anything personal. Ever since a horrible day off on the 23rd[1], he'd focused very single-mindedly on his work. It took his mind off of things. At least people weren't accosting him in hallways anymore, a major relief.

There was someone else there. "Good afternoon, I'm Healer Hollingbury and I'll be dealing with your case." The mediwitches who had been involved seemed to have been in a hurry, otherwise they wouldn't have left Balfour with all those scratches and bruises. Arcturus felt annoyed by this lack of attention, but there was zero indication of that outwardly as he looked towards the man's companion. "I trust you're with him? Any relation?" At the very least, the answer expected was of helping his patient get to the hospital in the first place.

Despite the man probably being unable to see as noted in the file, Arcturus got down onto one knee, now mostly eye level with Balfour. Not too many questions now, he could still be shaken up. They really should have cleaned him up. "Mr Spectre, how are you feeling? Do you have any pain, aches or discomfort?" Manticore venom by its own nature should be worse than this, something's not quite right.

1.	Arc's diary, post for 23rd Feb 2011

What’s the hour?


Under the bright, sterile lights of the Third Floor ward, Grigory squinted at the timepiece across from them. He didn’t need glasses, but it had been a long day; for a second there seemed to be two clocks instead of one. Ugh. He needed to sleep.

“Hour of blind man,” he grumped, looking utterly disgusted with everything. “Hour of close call, hour of almost dead, hour of-” Words declined into a steady stream of Russian. Grigory sighed, loudly and gustily. The things he had to put up with, honestly. “I’m still not believe you try talk with it,” he said again, because it certainly bore repeating. “It manticore, Balfour. How you forget?”

He shook his head sadly. “I’m blame little Storm. Too much sex, he make pretty eyes, make you forget.”

Which was probably, maybe, a little rich coming from him, given his own preoccupation with a certain witch; four weeks later, they were still very much in their honeymoon phase, according to Irina. Grigory certainly couldn’t look at Calvin Woolfolk’s desk without a special kind of fondness anymore (unless the man himself was seated at it, which presented an entirely different kind of difficulty altogether). But seeing how he wasn’t the one who had attempted reason with a manticore (a manticore! Bozhe moi), got venom in his eyes for his trouble, or the one who had to be held down afterward… He was fairly confident he had– what was the saying? A leg to stand on. He had two, in fact, because he was not the oversexed idiot in this situation.

What he was, was worried. Though the removal of certain death had been a great relief, the ensuing blindness was decidedly not. While Grigory had no doubt Balfour could be one of the many people out there who could live perfectly well without sight, there was a difference between being born without it and being disabled, and it was one Grigory knew all too well. Adjustment was – hard, to say the least.

And so he looked up and down at the healer in an obvious onceover before answering, arms folded and mug twisted into a mistrustful glower; he was not impressed with what he found. “No,” he said shortly, and frowned even more when Arcturus got down on one knee without further question.

“He blind because of manticore,” he said loudly, in the manner of one who has uttered a word too many times, before Balfour could reply. “How you think he feel? Five star hotel? And why you on floor?” It was the oddest tableau, a healer kneeling at the foot of a man staring straight ahead, and did not improve when Grigory tried to attach some semblance of logic to it. Where was the point in it? If the kneeling was for Balfour’s benefit, the giant Russian couldn’t see it. Nor could Balfour, for that matter, because– “He blind. He not see you!”

Grigory offered many responses to his question besides the actual time, and he was more than prepared to sigh heavily under this ridiculous barrage of reproach until - of all people! - Johann was blamed for Balfour's reckless handling of the Manticore. When did he acquire such a licentious reputation for this?!

The older wizard laughed out loud, teeth flashing and cheeks ruddy with better health than their location might suggest.

He did not mind being told of for reasoning with a dangerous creature. It had worked to an extent; nobody else had been hurt at the port, not a single person and not even the bloody Manticore. That was a job well done.

But his sight... well his sight wasn't a price he was willing to pay. Balfour was about to make a reply when their Healer arrived - and like that, he was sitting up straight on the ward bed as if though someone had pinched him in the ribs.

"Arsebadger!" he exclaimed, addressing the space two feet to where Arcturus actually stood. Mr Spectre! Gods, you'd think they hadn't spent a Christmas party together not a few months ago - or that they didn't have an absolutely divine man in common.

Grigory jumped on answering the questions before Balfour could and, to be perfectly honest, he was a little confused by the direction from which Arc's voice was coming.

Was Hollingbury on the floor? Why was Gonchar speaking so loudly?? The division head pinched the bridge of his nose, still half-smiling to himself as he spoke.

"Thank you Grigory." Balfour quelled the urge to laugh out loud again - he couldn't even see the scene but the very notion of the tall Russian mouthing off at flimsy, wee Arc was entirely hilarious. "And hello Arc, you as sound as stiff as ever. No pain I'm afraid...just feeling roughed up as always. Grigory, Healer Hollingbury is a friend of Joh's and mine. "

He turned his head down in the direction he supposed the Healer was (off by three inches) and held on to the side of the bed, shoulders slouching in casual defeat. "And this is my colleague, one of our beast handlers. Sadly, he's right - can't see a damned thing. It's all white as sails to me." A slight wrinkle between his auburn eyebrows before he added: "I can see very bright colours in good light but nothing at present."

Balfour played it off with the flair of someone who had just contracted a mild fever; there was a vague tension underneath his words, obvious to anyone who knew him well. He was stopping himself from wondering if he would ever again lay eyes on the Spectre estate in all its vast and verdant glory - or see himself and Johann installed there - or even observe the commonplace sight of their cosy little living room in Atreus.

Arsebadger. That word had the most uncomfortable angles, especially the combination of 'badger' in it. As far as he was concerned, 'badger' was now an old nickname for friends and Balfour certainly didn't fit in that definition. Arcturus, poker faced as usual, silently considered this and then opted to ignore it. At best it was only for this occasion. Wasn't worth bringing it up.

He ignored the questions of Balfour's companion, accustomed to people being loud next to him. Patients' companions could demonstrate a wide spectrum of behaviour while expressing - or not - their concern, it didn't bother him that much. As long as no one got in his way, he could come out with an accurate diagnosis quickly and that was all that needed doing.

Phoenix tears. Still blind. Perception of bright colour only in good light. Worried, anxious. Anyone would be. Also, the issue of kneeling on the floor meant that he was unfortunately getting neckache in the shadow of the taller man, and quite frankly it was not conducive to the diagnostic process. He got off the floor and fetched a chair so that at least they were on the same level with neither getting a crick in the cervical vertebrae.

"Has there been any discharge?" he asked, allowing curiosity and some concern in his tone, as he rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. "Swelling, redness? They can come without the pain, and I'll be able to narrow down if your blindness is external or internal." Though his hands were clean - Arcturus washed his arms up to the elbow so frequently it was falling short of an obsession - he still got his wand out and passed it over his hands just in case as he listened to the answers.

Was he–? He was. The strange little healer was ignoring him! Grigory’s eyes bugged out in outrage.

Only through the grace of Balfour was Arcturus saved from a verbal smackdown worthy of a Koldovstoretz headmistress; there were other, more important things at hand than a healer’s eccentricities, and Balfour’s health was the most important one of all.

Still, the beast handler couldn’t help but be concerned. In his experience, that kind of disregard was usually indicative of a more serious problem, and encountering it here made him worry as to the kind of care his friend might receive. No, Grigory was not about to leave his friend and boss to the mercy of some dead-eyed healer with such questionable judgment. Not even one so affectionately nicknamed.

(Which – what? The man looked like a weasel.)

Finally Arcturus got up… and got himself a chair. Grigory rolled his eyes and snorted, quieting just before Balfour answered. As much as he found Arcturus rude, he did not want to join the small man in making a similar spectacle of himself and prolong their stay. The sooner they left this ward – and Arcturus and his strange, baffling ways – the better.

So once Balfour finished replying, he clapped a hand on the Scottish wizard’s shoulder and ducked low to murmur in his ear. “I’m get something to eat. If he touch you bad… yell,” Grigory rumbled, eyeing Arcturus balefully. “Must be one healer here not crazy.”

Shooting Arcturus one last glower, he headed for the exit.

A quiet smirk pulled at Balfour's lips as he listened to Arc, and noted Grigory's derisive snort in the background. Something told him that those two would not make good friends - the Healer's mildness was not charming enough to find appeal on level 4. But that hardly seemed of concern at this moment. Besides. He was feeling forgiving, considering their misuse of his name on Valentine's.

"No discharge," he replied after a pause and frowned a little at the following question; surely Arc could see if there was swelling or redness. "Some puffiness. Feels a bit like I've cried my eyes out."

The clap on his shoulder was unexpected, causing Balfour to jump as Grigory announced his temporary departure in a voice that would have made the division head laugh under different circumstances. He smiled to himself instead, at the cautioning. Heavy footfalls trailed away.

Good man. "They are loyal to a fault, on our floor...." Balfour explained to Arcturus, shrugging. He didn't want to apologise for Gonchar's behaviour as it would have made him out to be ungrateful of such loyalty. "So. Tell me. What do you suppose the damage is?"

Arcturus turned his head to watch the man's companion leave, but said nothing in response to Gonchar's parting words. He returned to examining Balfour's face visually, checking to see if there was anything else out of the ordinary. "Loyalty like that is rare to come by these days," he remarked, slightly absently. "Good thing to have."

He thoughtfully mused over the estimate of said damage, hand over mouth, before shifting his fingers so he could speak. "By all rights the poison should have done some permanent damage, but I don't see that's the case here. It's been mixed in with something else, to form some kind of cover over your eyes. I don't quite know what it is, but I'll need to take a look under your eyelids with a light. Is that alright with you?"

The healer waited until Balfour approved, and leaned in, lit wand in one hand and gentle for the other. "Yes, that definitely looks like some sort of film covering your eyes. There's no damage from the poison at all. That's good news, you're not permanently blind." He straightened up, the light at the tip of his wand fading. "On the other hand, this probably hasn't had any precedent in recent years, so we don't have any instant cures on hand. The next best alternative would be to have something to dissolve away the cover on your eyes as well as neutralise any possible leftover poison, which would require multiple treatments. I have no estimate on how long the treatment would take then."

Except...that he did. Or rather, he would have an estimate if he very specifically made the potion himself. Arcturus frowned a little as he quickly recalled a list of ingredients in his head that he knew would work in various ways and smiled a little.

"Actually, I take that back. There's better news than that." He tucked his wand away in his sleeve. "There's quite a mixture in there and I assume part of it has reacted with your own body fluids, so I will need a sample of that cover from your eyes, but if you give me a bit of time I'll have something for you specifically that does the job and doesn't require a hassle or multiple potions to apply. It will take time to dissolve the cover, but I will try my best to reduce that time."

Arcturus looked around for the file and his quill. "Pre-existing treatments that will require repeat trips to the hospital but are available immediately, or a potion made for your situation that can be administered at home but will need some time to make. What do you say, Mr Spectre? The side effects would be roughly about the same."

Six-foot one of wizard in a deep navy suit and unbuttoned coat took the stairs two at a time to the third floor and burst through the doors, barrelling past Grigory,
“Alright, G-"

Then it ungracefully pirouetted on one foot and twisted round, arms out to balance,
“Bal-?” the great hulk of beast handler did not need to describe, his gesture and poise alone told Johann all he needed to know. Grigory’s path towards the stairs to ascend, find food - rather than leave (he did not appear to be about to throw back on clothes to go out in the cold) spoke enough that he felt Balfour was fine to leave. The Russian’s loyalty to his Division Head and neighbour was not in any doubt. Then again, he always was rather laid back.

Johann followed his nose and Grigory’s gesture to the emergency ward. A visitor far less than he was resident, he could remember each of the wards and their assigned healers in turn from his wandering. This ward had been backdrop to the levitating bucket fight at the end of the previous year. All of that was far from the wizard’s mind as his eyes raked through a myriad of faces to spot Balfour sat on a bed, and then, to Johann’s surprise, Arcturus. Sans white hair. It only registered subconsciously.

Either way, Balfour wasn’t balled in pain, nor in the middle of treatment, but calm, and that took the best out of Johann’s panicked sails. He had all his limbs, there wasn’t blood everywhere, and he was quiet. The worst was over, hopefully, and Balfour was alright.

“I came as soon as - chatting up manticores, are you alright?!” Johann rounded the foot of the bed, a little out of breath from dashing up stairs, and reached out gently to Balfour’s upper arm, as he was occupied with Arcturus shining light at his face. He relinquished his grip to lift his bag over his head and set it down on the floor by his feet and anxiously glanced from one wizard to the other.

       "That's good news, you're not permanently blind."

After this statement, Balfour had fleetingly lost track of what the Healer was saying - he felt the tightness in his chest dissolve, and the worry that he might never see again instantly became another addition to his list of close calls. The list was very long. The Scotsman was worried it could end at any moment these days.

Grigory had not been wrong, after all.

Arc's voice faded back into the clear and Balfour didn't stop him to ask what he was 'taking back', instead listening carefully to the options being outlined. There was little else to do: he was blind for now and his attention easily garnered by a speaking voice.

"Anything to administer at home is preferable, I'll be working from there." Bal ignored the use of his surname this time - if that was how the Healer dealt with his anxieties it seemed harmless - and was about to ask how long the brewed potion would take, when the sweetest sound of his life followed that of familiar footsteps.

He nearly stood up with a start at Johann's arrival, but was afraid of accidentally walking into Arc or a sidetable in the ward. "Darling!" Balfour exclaimed as the corners of his mouth pulled into a smile and he turned his head to follow the voice. Breathless - had he run here? A slight frown wrinkled his brow.  "I'm fine, I'm fine. Old arsebadger here is going to fix my eyes."

The wizard held out his left arm, reaching for Joh's hand imploringly. Gods he wanted to touch someone who wasn't going to be talking swollen eyes or yelling at him about manticores. "Bit of a complication with the antidote and poison," he tried to keep his tone light. Pointless: his lover would know otherwise.

"You see -- well," Balfour laughed to himself abruptly. "I can't."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Old arsebadger here is going to fix my eyes." Balfour's left hand found Johann's, and he instinctively clasped. Although Balfour couldn't see, Johann's eyes were wide open and intently analysing what had been said and how Balfour looked. His lips parted, a question in his throat, momentum halting. "Bit of a complication-" Both hands gripped, left hands together, right hand clasped around the upper arm above. This ward forever the scene of bad news. Of Arcturus Hollingbury.

"You're joking?" Johann asked, though he knew from Balfour's tone even without his own eyes that Balfour really wasn't. There was that same fear in his voice from the Valentines night they'd been locked up in Muggle cells. He swallowed and wet his lips. "But Arc can fix it," he declared, not looking at the healer, because he didn't want to know he was lying. "Best on this floor." Johann assured Balfour, mustering a confident tone, and then snapped his gaze to the younger wizard, "Aren't you?"

The question was rhetorical of course. The worry in Johann's expression was as good as written in inch high capital letters across his brow as he stared at Arcturus. There was a beat, maybe two, of a pregnant awkwardness between them all. "I have absolute confidence in him." Johann stated, looking back to Balfour and forcing a smile to his face, hoping it reached his voice.

His lover's hands on him were enough to calm Balfour's nerves, so urgently did he need that form of reassurance - he was a tactile man and being robbed of sight made him even moreso desperate for it. Johann was here, holding him. It was going to be better than alright.

There was a brave, blustering tone about the other wizard's declarations that made him want to laugh. In fact he found that he was already smiling in spite of the awkwardness: at least they were assured that no unpleasant letters would be sent.

He doubted that Arc threatened to throw books at all his patients. Balfour turned slightly, blinking through the white haze of his eyesight at what he hoped was Johann's countenance. He tried to picture it in his mind's eye, the face he knew so well by now in every capacity.

       "I have absolute confidence in him," said the beautiful voice.

"I'm sure. Don't worry, my love." Bal replied, soft, losing the forced cheerfulness with which he had greeted his partner - he was suddenly tired and did not want either of them to have to put up a front. "Still alive and kicking. Would take more to keep me from you."

The wizard hesitated, then closed his eyes and kissed the side of Johann's face. He'd been aiming for the lips of course but settled happily for the steep slope of those legendary cheekbones.

Then, remembering himself, pulled back and tried to suss out where Arc was standing. "Side-effects to the treatment you said, earlier. What are the side-effects?"