Zora was oddly comforted by Iona's stressed hysterics. This was all surreal. They both knew this could have happened any full moon, but to really understand that it could actually happen and really face what that would be? It was absurd enough for a mad laugh.

"Werewolf sex?" Zora chuckled, confused. Iona must really be out of it.

Healer Marrowbone still on her stool at Bruce's bedside unsealed the bottle of Wolfsbane Potion, stamped as inspected and attested. There were two signatures on the label - brewer and certifier.

She levitated a few more pillows behind Bruce's head to help prop her up and handed over the bottle. There were about twelve ounces.

"Right, Bruce. All of it. Best you can. I don't need to tell you, it's right foul. Really monstrous, but every drop. Then you can rest. Promise."

Allowing Bruce to work on that, Athena turned to the undressed wounds. Then enchantment to hold back the bleeding was temporary - the bite needed to be covered in the bandages and the magical salves in them. Athena carefully re-wrapped the leg.

Zora let go of Iona's hand and pulled a chair from the corner right up to the bed. She took a deep breath. This night in the hospital, this was going to be the easy part. Their whole lives stretched before them uncertain.

Marrowbone was right; Bruce didn’t need to be told to take every drop. She’d been here countless times with victims found in the field, or her own team members. She’d held hands and comforted and watched healers like Marrowbone perform their miracles. While it had always been a possibility, she’d never imagined the miracles would need to be performed on her.

The hand taking the vial from the healer was weak, shaky. Even the movement sent waves of pain shooting through her abdomen like lightning bolts. She’d still not seen the damage there. Bruce feebly lifted the vial up to her lips and the stench reached her nostrils, immediately causing a nausea to stir in her stomach. Had she not already been pale (transparent, she had a habit of calling herself), she certainly would have been now.

One sip was all it took to start gagging. She forced the mouthful of foul liquid down and cursed Athena and Zora and everyone else in this world because she’d need to finish the vial. And if she survived? Hundreds more. It burned down her throat, leaving an aftertaste that reminded her of vomit mixed with rotten fish and gone off milk. It made her want to hurl.

Werewolf. Bite. She didn’t remember. She couldn’t remember a thing from the supposed attack. Harfooey. He’d lead them on a hunt. Tracking some wolves that had escaped him the month before. Bagnold had been there. And Bellingham?

Despite the careful and delicate manner in which Marrowbone worked on the bandages, working around what was left of her leg, Bruce cried out suddenly as the sensations only intensified. Her spare hand flew to Zora’s, grabbing and squeezing tight. The vial was still half full. She couldn’t face it.

“Zo. P-prom-” she stopped, teeth clenched together and eyes closed to combat the pain. When her eyes opened again, they were focused on Zora’s. A piercing blue blurred with tears. “Promise me. Wav. Tell her…tell her I love her.” If she died. Which was likely. She felt like she was going to die. “And you. I love you.” She’d not said it enough, had she? Could you ever say it enough?

Zora watched Iona struggle to get the potion down, wanting so much to be able to take some of the pain. But Iona was brave. She was a warrior. However weak she felt now, however scared, she was going to survive.

"Don't talk like that, Io. She knows. You'll tell her yourself. C'mon." Iona was talking like she was dying.

Healer Marrowbone finished her ministrations and waited patiently while Bruce got through it.

"Your chances of survival are very good," she said addressing the patient as much as her wife. "Now tha's taken Wolfsbane your risk is way down. We'll do what we can for that leg. I'll do everything I can to save it."

A welling of pride could be heard in Athena's voice. She wasn't the type to make promises but despite what her colleagues were saying when Bruce was out, Athena was going to see this witch walking on her own.

"We're going to keep you for at least ten days, then it's going to another few weeks of bed rest for that leg."

Athena folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head patiently. She knew what she was going to say next was complicated, but it was unavoidable procedure.

"Because you've likely been bitten by a werewolf -," an official report would be required to make it official, "- I need to speak with you about some the werewolf curse."

As if Bruce didn't know. Athena smiled crookedly.

She’d tell her herself. If she made it. Iona loosened her grip slightly on Zora’s hand, her energy severely flaking.
“Do-don’t just become some…some lame widow. You’re too...” she paused, breathing through the pain, “too hot.” If she did die, Zora couldn’t be wasted on years of solitude. “It’s okay. I won’t haunt you for it.” She was stopped by Marrowbone insisting that her chances were good. They didn’t feel it. She felt like the pain would kill her if the blood and muscle loss didn’t. But didn’t they say that pain meant you were alive?
Another gulp of potion was taken reluctantly. The witch found herself retching and struggling to hold it down.

Promises of saving her leg seemed too much, too overwhelming. Talking about the werewolf curse. Much more overwhelming.

“What…” another pause and close of her eyes. It was strange; the pain wasn’t diminishing, but perhaps her own tolerance was increasing. Perhaps it was the exhaustion. “What can you tell me that I don’t know, Mar-marrowbone.” With a screwed-up face and shaking hand, the vial was emptied and the patient rested her head back.

She didn’t want to talk about the curse. She didn’t want to think about the curse. She’d never thought that this could happen. Zora probably never thought it would happen.

“My time of the month just got a helluva lot more volatile, that’s all I need to know.” It wasn’t. “But my team? Please tell me…they’re okay?”

Whether either of them wanted to or not, Ballentyne would have to receive the mandatory counseling and have the horrid pamphlet. But there were more important things, weren't there? The Werewolf Capture Unit could be as tight as family. An angry, hatter-mad, sleep-deprived family, sure, but they were as close as a mad lot like that could get. They had to be.

"Bagnold and Bellingham walked away from it, love," Athena replied without delay. "They've both asked after you and I'm sure they'll be round to see you later."

Athena only needed one breath to gather herself for the next bit of news. "Pete Harfooey died on the scene. I'm told three werewolves were brought in alive and are in custody." 

It was hard news. She looked from Bruce to Zora with a restrained sadness.

Zora shook her head and squeezed her wife's hand. "Oh no," she breathed. It wasn't often that Zora socialized with the WCU but she'd had opportunity to meet them. It was a loss and it was going to kill Iona.

Bagnold and Bellingham okay. But there was more. They didn’t go out in threes for the big game. It took a team.
"Pete Harfooey died on the scene.”
There it was.

Iona had seen a lot of people die. She’d lead a lot of people to their deaths, when you came to think about it. Each one carried an enormous amount of survivor’s guilt, but it had been an unfortunate part of the job. This was different. Harfooey died on the scene. She’d lived. She’d been brought here to wake up and learn her fate.

A squeeze of her hand was barely registered. Until this point, Iona had kept her head. She’d barely held it together when the news of her bite had been dropped, she’d insisted on seeing. She’d breathed through the agony ripping through her body. But now? This agony was proof that she’d lived and he hadn’t. It was too much.

The witch’s reaction was silent. She simply stared ahead, her bloodshot eyes filling up with more tears.

Harfooey was dead.
She’d become the monster that she hunted.

Everything had changed.