In recent years, a certain mellowness had settled over Jason MacDonell's features, an almost tangible calm. The hardness and frost of the darkest years of his life had seemingly dissolved like snow in a warm, rising sun, leaving only the better parts of him behind. There was still an aura of power around him, a certain weight in the air when he swished his wand that suggested all the same skill and talent were still present, if indeed not amplified. But it was all carefully restrained. His smirk was teasing without being cruel, his limping gait was no longering a stalking strut, and his emerald eyes were bright and alert, but no longer hard.

All that was gone now.

He stormed into the Muggle hospital in Montrose in the early morning, dressed in all black save for the Ravenclaw-blue tie he wore, half-concealed by a black vest. He looked convincingly like a Muggle, except for the wand in his right hand and the silver eagle device that was the head of his cane. He was in far too much of a hurry to actually use the cane, and so he carried it in his left hand, holding it at the center of the shaft as if he meant to beat someone with it. Every other step was painful, a twinge of nerves in his right leg, but he was far too furious to care.

The look on the former Auror's face was terrifying. His features themselves were hard and set, his jaw locked so tight it looked as if he might never open his mouth again. But the truly unsettling sight was his eyes, livid and narrowed and glinting cruelly like those of a madman. They seemed brighter, but it was a harsher light, as if the Killing Curse was glowing behind them.

He stepped into the lobby, eyeing it all quickly, shoulders so tight they almost shook. He spotted the one security camera in the corner, and flicked his wand at it before it could turn to spot him; the camera slouched on its post with only a few feeble sparks. He did not understand how the device worked, but he knew what it was for, and there should be no evidence of his passing. Stepping up to the reception desk, he rapped his cane on it, and the tired-looking woman behind it jumped.

Eyeing him warily, she said with a bit of huffiness, "Yes? May I help--"

"Tamis Raynor," the wizard replied through gritted teeth, as if he really could not unclench his jaw. The simple name sounded like an execration.

The receptionist's eyes widened. "Are you family?"

"Yes." It was close enough to the truth. When the woman eyed him appraisingly, he added with a snarl, "And I do nay have all day."

The woman frowned. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm--"

But Jason was not in a mood to be calmed. Glancing around the deserted lobby, he pointed his wand right between the woman's eyes and snapped, "Confundo!"

She jerked as if Jason had slapped her.

"Tamis. Raynor."

Mechanically, eyes half-unfocused, the receptionist typed on her keyboard, one key at a time. She stared at the screen long enough that Jason almost turned it to face him before she said in a blank, dead voice, "Fourth floor. Room 416."

Barely waiting to nod, Jason limped off toward to the exit as the receptionist vacantly wished him a Happy Halloween. Glancing back at her, he flicked his wand again, thinking, Obliviate! She slumped at her desk, and MacDonell was off without waiting for her to recover.

He found the elevator and rode it up with an impatient expression, wishing he could Apparate in and avoid this nonsense. His real hand shook, wand still clenched in it. He had been half-tempted to use the Imperius Curse on the receptionist and avoid the delay before sanity had warned him away from that plan. But his expression left no doubt that someone was going to be cursed in the very near future. He was going to kill Cinaed Tawse and stick the man's head on the ramparts of Bannochdaen.

The lights in the elevator flickered briefly, the elevator itself slowing as MacDonell's anger reached unconsciously into his magic. He forced himself to calm, flicking his wand at the elevator's panel to get it moving again. When the doors finally opened with a groan of metal -- he had forced them with his wand, too impatient to wait -- Jason stalked off down the corridor.

He passed two staff members, but a pair of silent Confundus Charms sent them wandering dazedly in the other direction before they could even ask. Up ahead, he could see Room 416, and he felt like an iron fist had closed around his heart. Anguish briefly shattered the vicious mask his face had become, but that passed quickly, the former Auror's expression hardening again. He strode down the hallway toward the door as fast as his limp would allow.

Sitting by Tamis’ bedside was harder than Archer imagined it would be.  Not because he did not want to , and definitely not because he was restless, at least not in the sense that he wanted to leave, but he watched her, every little movement and stir, for signs that she was coming to, and despite how many times the doctors explained to him that she was sedated with a heavy drug for pain management, Archer did not understand how muggle doctors could not find a way to localize their pain management so she could be up, talking, assuring him that she was okay. Not that she’d be able to talk to him anyway, the plastic protruding from her mouth, which Archer could not begin to guess what that was doing. 

The way they talked to him, well, Archer was not a dumb man, far from it.  He carried himself with confidence and usually spoke in a way that indicated he knew what he was doing – but when they had to decide between this and St. Mungo’s, it was perhaps one of the first times Archer hesitated.  He didn’t want to apparate with her, he certainly didn’t want to risk her health like that, and this was the best, closest option.  He felt terribly about it, she hated these types of places – was wary of muggle machinery and techniques, but Archer wanted her alive, he was pretty sure he didn’t care how or whom it was going to be achieved.

She was his partner, arguably his best friend, and also, beyond that, a woman he cared about.  When they had said only family allowed, Archer, of course, lied.  He had no qualms with doing so, and proved, without much effort, that he knew her.  Though, of course, when asked questions about her allergies to medication, he was dumbfounded – a centaur staring straight at Lumos.  He had no idea, he didn’t even know what they used, she was allergic to apparating, but surely that wouldn’t be helpful… so he had said nothing, hoping for the best, so far, it did not appear anything bad had happened because of the call he made. 

So, stoically, he sat by her side, a chair pulled up from the corner of the room, Archer sat – and sat – and sat.  The hours passed excruciatingly slowly.  Sometimes the doctors would come in and stick things in her, there were beeping things everywhere with numbers he didn’t understand – though he tried to appear competent when it came time for the lab coats to tell him something about her condition, whether it was good or bad. 

So far, he was getting mixed reports with a lot of words he did not understand.  Why these muggles had to talk in nonsense terms that sounded more like spells than something that was actually wrong with her, Archer couldn’t begin to understand.  All he could do was hold her hand. 

He had always noted how small her hands were next to his, but while she lied in a bed that seemed far too large for her, surrounded by machines and bathed in light that washed her out even more than she was already pale, she seemed so… fragile, so much smaller than usual.  It scared him more than he wanted to admit, and he turned her small hand over in his, squeezing it every few minutes, hoping for a response, the squeeze back or even the miracle of a light hit on the arm would be great.  He’d actually welcome physical violence at this point. 

But, he received no such responses. 

He was just tired.  He had been sitting there all evening, thankfully, he had been wearing slacks and a button down shirt, muggle enough to be here, and he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows around three thirty in the morning when they had taken enough blood out of her to make Archer feel faint (though he would never admit to such a thing), and the top few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, not the generally neat appearance an Auror usually kept up.  He was disheveled and he didn’t really care.  Even the hair poking this way and that didn’t perturb him at the moment.

He just stared, practically asleep, at her face, before he bent his head to rest on the side of the bed, closing his eyes as he continued his vigilant hand holding.  Hopefully Trevelyan or someone would be around with coffee soon… He wasn’t going to be able to sleep for days, he’d need the fuel.  If only this was Mungo’s pepper-up would be somewhere, but damn it to hell if anyone thought they could pry him from her bedside. 

Somewhere in the intervening hours, exhausting day had given way to depressingly inactive night until the rising sun had finally brought both to an end.  Jonas was certain that he was the only one of the trio to have gotten any sleep, but it had come in fits and spurts, camped out in a chair in the waiting room while Adon paced.  They'd made use of the forced waiting period as much as they could in between cat naps. Jonas now felt comfortable navigating the wards between the ground floor, where any intruders would presumably have to enter, and the fourth, where Tamis had ended up.  Between roaming around unsupervised and making friends with some of the night orderlies, he felt that at least they had gotten a sense of what the security here was like.  It wasn't St. Mungo's or the Ministry, but it was something.

Even after Tamis was settled in a bed, Archer wasn't really alright - the private investigator didn't expect that his former partner could be right now - but he'd said he would be fine when the other two men had asked if he was comfortable keeping watch on his own for a bit so that they could duck out to check on the hospital's security during the daytime.  The Israeli Auror, much to Jonas's surprise, had a much stronger grasp of Muggle security procedures than he'd expected; apparently Adon hadn't been kidding about the time that he'd spent in the Army.  After it had become clear that the younger man wasn't about to hex anyone upon Suspicion of Being Muggle, Jonas had left him talking shop with a bloke in the main security office so that he could return and check on Radley.

He'd taken the lift back to the fourth floor, and then put his reconnaissance to good use by hunting down the snack corner that he'd spotted the previous night.  A couple of chocolate bars from a vending machine, shoved into his pocket, and two cups of disgustingly bitter coffee that threatened to scald taste buds into submission were the best he could do for breakfast.  If Radley had a problem with his scrounging efforts, he could hunt up his own damned coffee.

Jonas kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary as he made his way back to Room 416.  Even for so early in the morning, the hospital seemed especially empty, the hallway echoing with a lonely cadence every time he passed someone.  It seemed unlikely that Tawse would be so fixated on Raynor that he'd attack her here while she was presumably under full Auror protection, but one never knew.  They still had to be careful.

As he approached the last turn before Tamis's room, he could hear footsteps drawing nearer from the opposite direction, coming from the trajectory of the lift.  Raising his eyebrows, he carefully looked around the corner, glancing nonchalantly down the corridor to see who was approaching.

The wand registered first; Jonas stared at it for the briefest of moments, and then peered hard at the other man's face.  Ten years had aged it, but there was no mistaking the man who had once been one of the terrors of the Auror Corps.  Jason MacDonell, the Auror Who Kills, had still been notorious for his vehemence in the First War even as they had stood at the dawn of the Second.  The private investigator hadn't heard what had become of the older man since then, but seeing him here, completely out of context, threw him for an instant.  Why MacDonell would come storming down the hallway to Tamis's bedside, dressed almost entirely in black and looking fit to murder, he had no idea.

If it was MacDonell.

All he had was a split second to analyze, to decide.  Considering that they were now on High Yeti Alert, anyone coming to attack Tamis had to do so with some sort of disguise.  Impersonating or Imperiousing Muggles seemed to have become Tawse's modus operandi; he and Adon had already quietly discussed what they would have to do if one of the hospital staff appeared to be compromised.  But the problem with an expected attack pattern was that it was so easy to change.  Send in a Muggle that they didn't recognize with a wand and they'd be suspicious; take the place of one of the most famed Aurors to grace the Corps, and even a normally paranoid guard might not see the attack coming through the air of authority.

Jonas glanced carefully behind him, and then lengthened his stride to reach Tamis's door, shifting both cups to his left hand to free his right.  Flinging coffee might not block a hex, but as a distraction, it might buy him enough time to ring Adon or to pound on the door to alert Radley.  Either way, a body in the hallway meant that the other two men were all the more likely to catch on to a deception.

"MacDonell," he said clearly, stopping in front of the closed door.  He kept his hands where the older man could see them; if it was MacDonell, Jonas wasn't about to get hit by the goddamned Killing Curse because he'd startled the notorious Scotsman into thinking he had drawn a wand.  Either way, he was putting himself between the older man, the coffee, and the entryway - to hell with the bloody consequences.  "Hold up."

"MacDonell. Hold up."

Wrapped in firestorm of anger and agony though he was, Jason was still a former Auror, and his analytical reflexes operated without needing the consent of his brain. His eyes automatically found Jonas the moment the other wizard moved into his field of view, and his wand rose a few inches, prepared to Confund yet another hapless Muggle. He wondered very briefly, though for the dozenth time already, why Raynor hadn't been taken to St. Mungo's, why she was so dangerously exposed in the Muggle world. The Muggle healers, the...doctors, that was the word, would be wondering why she had Auror bodyguards all day; they'd need so many Confundus Charms to keep them happy that they'd all wind up brain-damaged.

This thought flitted into and out of MacDonell's mind in a second. The next second, recognition kicked in. He had not seen Jonas Trevelyan except in passing in the years since the Second War had ended, but there was no mistaking him.

Jason did not lower his wand; indeed, he twisted his wrist to aim it more deliberately at the man's heart.

"You," he said, diminishing his pace to a very slow, cautious step forward. His voice was still coldly calm, but it dripped contempt so intense that he might have been speaking to a man who murdered his children. "What are you doing here?"

His mind raced through the possibilites. Was Trevelyn in league with Tawse? Unlikely. There was a difference between cowardice and treachery; Jonas had abandoned his brothers in their hour of need, but he had not defected to the Death Eaters. Was he here to finish Raynor for his own, inexplicable vendetta? Possible, but it seemed a stretch.

Was it really Trevelyan, or was it someone under the guise of Polyjuice? Tawse almost certainly had access to the potion, if indeed he could not make it himself. Or he might Imperius a wizard to do his bidding. But that seemed a poor strategy, the wrong person to enslave or impersonate. Many Aurors in the Corps would have Jason's intensely negative reaction to Jonas's presence. He could hardly sneak up on Raynor if she had any bodyguards at all. It would make much more sense to impersonate Annwyl, or Jason himself, or...

Radley. Jason almost cursed aloud. Radley and Trevelyan had been partners. Was that why the deserter was here?

Noting that Jonas had left his right hand free for his wand, but was not actually holding it yet, even in the midst of his disgust and annoyance Jason felt it would be unsporting to curse him just yet. But he did not stop advancing or lower his wand. "I am here to see Raynor. Get out of my way."

Well, Jonas thought cheerfully, staring at the wand that was now pointed at his chest, at least this was going well so far.

He took a deep breath, keeping his shoulders relaxed and his posture from tensing.  The cups of coffee seemed a little bit ridiculous as a defensive distraction now that he was facing both MacDonell's fury and his wand, but bending to put them down seemed too likely to be taken as preparing for battle, so the private investigator kept them in hand.  In retrospect, it would have probably been a better idea to ring Adon or alert Archer before capturing the attention of some madman likely to hex him if he made anything near a sudden move.  Apparently, he was a little out of practice.

Jonas kept his expression impassive, shifting his gaze past the weapon to inspect the older man's features.  He had spent most of his life surviving on split-second judgment calls, but it was much easier to make a snap decision when his neck was the only thing on the line.  With Raynor and Radley behind the door at his back, letting this man anywhere near here meant risking both of their lives.  As furious as MacDonell looked, though, and as deadly serious as he seemed, the older man hadn't hexed him at first sight.  Jonas wasn't armed.  An assassin sent to get to Tamis could have easily done him in before he had the chance to raise the alarm.

There was something distinctly unsettling about basing his decision on the fact that he hadn't just been killed without a thought, but it was no less unsettling than MacDonell's warm and friendly words of greeting.  At least it seemed as though they were about to have quite the cheery reunion.

"I am here to see Raynor. Get out of my way."

Each word was spat out with the force of a bullet, and Jonas had no doubt that something just as deadly would hit him if he jumped the wrong way in this.  He let out a quick breath, eyebrows rising as he surveyed MacDonell.

"Raynor hired me on as a consultant.  I'm consulting," he said evenly, keeping his feet where they were.  Murder attempt or no murder attempt, homicidal former Auror or no homicidal former Auror, he still wasn't moving.  "And there's no wands out in there.  Any magic's going to mess with the Muggle machines that're keeping her alive."

'No wands at all' would have been his preferred clause considering how the older man's temper was obviously flaring, but he could recognize a completely lost fight when he saw it.  MacDonell was more likely to give up his other arm than his weapon; there was no reason to tack on conditions that were just going to become battles that they couldn't win.  If Jonas had a choice, he'd rather let Adon make this decision - the Israeli had more or less taken charge of the security situation, and Archer was a mess.  But if he had to choose between them for an ace in the hole, he'd pick Houdini.   Better not to give away his presence.

"Let me tell Radley," he added, raising his free hand and turning slightly as if to knock on the door.  They'd agreed on the sequence already - the rhythm to the theme song of that bloody awful Wizarding Wireless Network kids show that Adon had made him listen to.  "It's his scene.  Just a moment, yeah?"

Adon had hit it off with such ease and speed with the lead security officer, it had almost been efficient. They'd chatted first about Adon's time in the military. That had gained authority. Griped a bit about incompetent commoners unfamiliar with security protocol. That gained rapport. Then chatted over a bit of football. Instant mates. Adon had sheepishly acknowledged he hadn't watched much--an honest enough admission--but had primarily attributed it to his recent arrival in England. There was not much of a team in Israel. To which the man had most readily and rapidly agreed.

They chatted on and off about this as the officer, Amos Right, showed him the various security cameras and explained the various measures, occasionally  giving furtive, in-the-know glances at Adon as though they together were in on some great conspiracy, discussing varifocal zoom cameras  as contrasted to bullet-style cameras. He grinned when Adon referred to things as "surv" and "IMINT." Adon had the sinking suspicion the man felt he was in a spy show; and he was loving it. He was rather tempted to throw in some bogus jargon as well. He had little doubt his audience'd buy it.

The guard handed Adon a walkie-talkie, holding a finger up to his lips in a show of silence before smirking. "Good thing I'm the boss; I shouldn't be giving these out."

"Sure thing, boss," Adon smirked back, clipping the device on his belt opposite his wand so there would be less interference. There was a slight crackling, which Adon frowned at. So did the guard.

"So any word on the investigation? She still under threat or did they detain the culprit?" the man asked as he looked at the cameras, eyes only flickering away a moment to catch Adon's.

"I'm sorry; that's classified," Adon said in his most official tone. Trevelyan'd told the security guard that Adon was a friend from police force that he'd asked to help out. As Trevelyan was a Muggle PI as much as he was a Magical one, it was believable enough, even if Adon was not quite as much a Muggle officer as much as he was a Magical one.

The man looked a bit disappointed, but nodded. "Hope they get that fellow."

Adon nodded. "We'll get him."

One of the screens crackled before going black. Both Adon and the guard instincively moved towards the darkened screen, as though hoping it would gain more insight. For Adon, it did. The other cameras seemed to be on the fritz. Adon suspected magic.

"I'll pull up the last frames; see if I can see any--"

"No," Adon said abruptly, a bit too exasperated to humour the man. "We'll see him soon enough. Get two guards to reception. I'm going to . . .Trevelyan's room to make sure all's well. Alert the others?" he added, trying to make this sound less like a command.

But they were, and he left abruptly, running as quickly as he could through corridors. A voice emanated from the walkie. "Receptionist has no recollection . . . of anything."

"What do you mean anything?"

"I mean, she's acting all out of sorts."

"Amy's just slow. Always has been."

Adon hissed a curse in Hebrew. Whoever the hell barrelled in throwing spells and casting hexes was no doubt on his way to Raynor's room. He reached a sprint, throwing open the doors to the stairwell and ran up, feeling the walkie-talkie's plastic clip tug and slip slightly with the jostling motions of his long, upward strides. He tugged it free and held it in his hand. "Need three guards to 416. Now." He ought to have used some codes and numbers to make this more convincing, but didn't know any off-hand.

Adon threw his hands out before him as he approached the door to level 4, using his forward momentum to swing it open. Hanging a quick left, he did not slow to a jog until he noted Jonas speaking with a rather irate sounding -- and looking -- a rather familiar looking individual.

He was a Wizengamot Elder of Level Two fame. Normally, Adon would refer to him in all deference, by title. But they were in a Muggle setting. "Jason MacDonnell," he greeted somewhat breathlessly; he kept his muscles relaxed and at the ready. MacDonnell had a reputation, it was true, but Adon was rather confident he could neutralise the man, if it came to it. "Were you the one that confunded the receptionist?"

Because if not, they were in one hell of a fix.

"On our way," a voice on the walkie came, belatedly. Adon's features twitched. In the military, he thought, those men would get a dressing-down.

"Raynor hired me on as a consultant.  I'm consulting."

"Really?" Jason snapped back, his tone laden with disbelief. "She hired you to consult on her attack after Tawse put her here? Surely ye can do better than that."

"And there's no wands out in there.  Any magic's going to mess with the Muggle machines that're keeping her alive."

The look on MacDonell's face made it clear that he was incensed at still standing in this hallway, rather than being inside with Raynor where he belonged. "If I cast any magic," he said in a quiet, threatening tone, "it will be out here, not in there. Stand aside."

"Let me tell Radley. It's his scene.  Just a moment, yeah?"

Jason's knee-jerk response would have been an emphatic 'No'; his basest, most savage response (which passed through his mind before being stamped down) would have been Avada Kedavra. But he was an Auror too, and some part of him recognized the logic of this. Why would a friend of Raynor's, legitimately concerned for her, not be willing to take security precautions, even if they were coming from this scum? To force his way in would give them every reason to consider him a threat, even an imposter; MacDonell would have made the same judgment himself.

And though he was disconcerted that Raynor and Radley had apparently confided their relationship to Trevelyan, of all people, it was comforting that Radley was at least here. Someone trustworthy.

So he said, "Yes. Do it now."

For a brief second, the flickering tornado of anger in MacDonell's mind almost subsided. He was here, he could see Raynor soon, see for his own eyes that she was safe, make sure this buffoon and Radley had done their jobs properly in protecting her, then get down to the business of making Cinaed Tawse wish he had never been born.

And then the door burst open behind him, and MacDonell half-turned on reflex, keeping Jonas in his peripheral vision while his wand moved to the newcomer. The curse was halfway through his mind before recognition kicked in, and his pulled his wand up short.

"Jason MacDonell."

"Eleor," Jason said back, and though the impatience was mounting in his tone again, it was now only that, an annoyed grumble without the previous contempt. "Nice to see someone reliable is on duty here."

"Were you the one that confunded the receptionist?"

"On our way."

The former Auror narrowed his eyes curiously for a moment, but then he glanced at the radio as it issued a staticky question, and comprehension dawned on him. "Yes," he said, in a quick, clipped Auror's tone, then started rattling off identifying factors. He could only assume they thought he was the Polyjuiced one. "Jason Darius MacDonell, Elder of the Wizengamot, former Head of Aurors on Badge 125, married to Aurora Felicity Le Fey, father of Jacquelynne Isolde and Alexander Flavius. Here to see Tamis Marian Raynor, a Ravenclaw like me, just past Trevelyan, who I think is cowardly scum who abandoned his brothers when they needed him."

Hearing footsteps on the stairs -- rather heavy footsteps, he thought, as if the men making them carried a bit more weight than was really healthy for their heights -- he added in a low, urgent tone, "It's me, Adon."

And, with a move so smooth it might have been practiced, he slid his wand up the sleeve of his left arm, shifted his cane to his right hand, held his left hand up to his mouth with a deeply contemplative look, and turned to read a poster on the wall which read, "YOU WON'T GET BETTER BY MAGIC! FOLLOW THE DOCTOR'S INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY" just as the stairwell door opened again.

The rhythmic thumping on the door caused Archer to sit up with remarkable speed, his forehead red and with lines that mirrored those of the blanket perfectly etched all over him.  His eyes felt heavy and he grunted once, his mouth was dry.  He must have drifted off while he was leaning against the bed.  Immediately running his freehand over his face, it took a few seconds for him to reorient himself. 

There did not appear to be anything wrong with Tamis, good, but there was that knocking.  It’s pattern did not make sense until he realized Rapraprap- ratatatarap rap pause rap pause ratatata raprap was the Muggly theme song…. Muggly!   Jonas.  Jumping up from his seat, Archer kept his wand in his hand, just in case, though made no move to use it.  He did not want to disturb the muggle blinking things that he was told were keeping Tamis alive.  If they exploded or something he wouldn’t know what to do and he wanted to make sure that these muggles could keep her alive. 

They had done a pretty decent job so far, even if they couldn’t keep her awake while they did it, but who was he to tell them otherwise?  He didn’t know the difference as long as that machine kept beeping, which he was told meant her heart was still beating. 

Tripping over himself as he got out of his chair, Archer tried very hard not to disturb her, though he pressed on the side of the bed which shifted her a bit.  Archer stopped moving, frozen in place as he glanced at her, she did not respond.  He breathed slowly and raised himself to his full height, groaning slightly as he worked out the kinks in his back and stretched for a second before ambling across the room as awkwardly as possible.

Those chairs provided absolutely no comfort.  But, he finally made his way to the door, keeping the wand behind the wooden structure, just in case, and blinked rapidly as Jonas was standing there, coffee in hand (thank Merlin), MacDonell was there (looking as angry as ever) , and Adon was also outside the door.  Was this some kind of ambush attempt?  Was that really MacDonell?  He was drowsy, confused, and then he heard a voice from someone who clearly wasn’t present declaring they were on the way, whoever they were. 

“What’s going on?” Archer asked confusedly, glancing from face to face, “Why are you are in the hallway, has there been a breach?” His fingers flexed on the wand behind the door, ready to pull it if necessary, “And who in Godric’s name is on the way?” he glanced anxiously toward the door that was opening and sucked in a deep breath, hoping it was not what everyone was gathered outside for. 

It was really thrilling that they were having such a touching reunion.  Jonas gave the Scotsman a friendly, polite smile, just to show how happy he was to see him, and then turned to knock on the door - though he was careful not to move too slowly.  The former Auror's reputation stuck out in his mind like a stoplight in a graveyard, although that was probably the wrong simile to use when his back was half-turned toward MacDonell.

He was in the process of rattling off the knock when the door was flung open and he heard footsteps stampeding towards them.  Alarmed, Jonas half-turned, dropping his hand into his pocket as he raised the two cups of coffee again as if they'd make for an effective projectile.

Eleor.  He nearly swore.  That was just what he bloody well needed, their ace in the hole storming into a high tension scene and provoking MacDonell into firing off hexes.  He was just about to raise his voice, snap off an order at Adon to stand down before MacDonell shot off something more lethal, when the Israeli Auror recited the other man's name.

Jonas held his breath, watching the two, and then turned back toward the door.  Adon clearly had things under control.  And it made sense that he and MacDonell knew each other; the older man was apparently still involved on Level Two in some capacity.  Having Adon here lent legitimacy to their watch.  While Jonas hadn't worked for Level Two in over a decade, the Israeli was much more likely to be known to those who might question their presence.

Though, apparently, he was still remembered fondly by some of his former co-workers.  Jonas stopped, visibly pausing, as he turned MacDonell's words over in his mind.  Luckily, Radley's timing was as fortuitous as ever, and the opening door saved him from having to decide whether he wanted to dissolve into laughter or do his best to live up to his apparently sterling reputation by finding a table to hide under.

"The Muggle circus," he replied, straight-faced, as he passed Archer one of the styrofoam cups.  "We've decided we're not as obvious as we could be, so we thought we might as well call in a few elephants and clowns whilst we're at it.  I think it's under control, mate," he said quietly, lowering his voice as he didn't quite cast a look back at Adon.  Whoever was on his way, he trusted the younger man to deal with it.  "Had an unexpected visitor, but I reckon we've got everyone identified now."

He dug into his pocket for a chocolate bar, and then passed that over to Radley as well, giving his former partner a sidelong, nonchalant glance.  "MacDonell's stopped in," he said noncommittally.  "He wants to see Tam.  Don't suppose I could act like the cowardly scum I am and ask you if that's all right, yeah?"

"Nice to see someone reliable is on duty here."

Adon gave a curt nod in response. The man was, by reputation, hopelessly martial, for never having served in the military. Still, he had respect for the man. He'd served in the wizarding war. Which was not like actual war, but he would not argue that point now. Respect won. Adon spoke as he might to a captain. Adon was not cautious of the praise. He maintained a reserved manner, determined not to be taken in. The criticism of Trevelyan, however called for in 1997, was uncalled for now. Jonas had done a valuable service in saving Raynor. He was included subtly in his response. "We are doing our best, sir." They had every reason to.

The blunt, unashamed admission of having cast a spell openly and publically upon a civilian, a Muggle civilian made Adon suck in his lips a bit. With a reserved smile, he responded, "Two points for honesty." MacDonnell had been an Auror, yes. A head Auror and a damned fine one. But that was not a carte blanche. They'd talk about that later.

To the rapid fire list of facts, Adon kept his face passive and stoic, though he could not help but consider that MacDonnell had failed to mention he was a virgo who loved long walks on the beach. He shot a glance at Trevelyan ruefully. His best jokes were spoiled for the cause of diplomacy. The use of the first name was uncomfortably familiar; Adon rather preferred "Eleor" coming from the mouths of military-types. "Facts and opinions, noted, sir," Adon said.

Noted and, by Jonas, bitterly echoed. Adon didn't appreciate the view, either, but it would do very little to point that out to MacDonnell now, and in that manner. If Jonas knew people, he didn't know military. His continual harping might have dispelled tension on a more affable sort. But, to military ears, it sounded a lot like whining. His eyes shot sidelong to gather MacDonnell's expression.

Wands were away and tempers manageable. As Archer opened the door and muttered a bleary inquiry, Adon leaned in. "Let's keep 'Muggles' to a minimum, Dick Tracy," Adon muttered lowly to the man.

As the two guards in black strolled down the hallway, Adon turning about to greet them with an "all is well" smile. "Ah! Thanks for coming, gentlemen!" he stated cheerily, tucking his fingers into the loopholes of his trousers and ambling to greet them. He glanced back at the three men congregated in the hall. The guards, too, were looking. Adon returned his attention to the guards. The best use of his time would be to cover up MacDonnell's idiocy. It was nothing less. MacDonnell might claim testing security measures or the like, but the sudden aggression had been a clear display of snap judgment, breaches of statues, protocol, and poor communication. A cynical little voice in his head -- Adon did not know how he'd admitted Jonas Trevelyan in -- quipped "You might have owled, mate." This time, at least, Adon was not the one intruding. It was a pity MacDonnell was not wearing a Santa suit. Though he cut a no less striking figure.

"Who's the tall one in all black? The Newcomer with the cane."

"Overprotective uncle; you know how it is." He leaned in, conspiratorially. "Can't stand his niece's husband." He grinned. "Should see family dinners." Adon wouldn't mind seeing them himself. The family was blossoming with each coming day! He began to walk down the hall, back towards the stairwell. "Any clue on what might have caused the camera to short circuit?"

The guards hesitated, one looking at the other. It sounded a lot like work.

"The signal sputtered on the other cameras too, when they went out. Did you notice that?"

Prolonged silence before: "We haven't had the chance to get to the security closet. We came straightaway from reception."

"Let me ask you this," Adon's voice drifted down the hall as he rounded the corner into the stairwell, "do you have all your cameras on the same circuit?"

"What’s going on?” Archer asked confusedly, glancing from face to face, “Why are you are in the hallway, has there been a breach? And who in Godric’s name is on the way?"

"The Muggle circus. We've decided we're not as obvious as we could be, so we thought we might as well call in a few elephants and clowns whilst we're at it."

Jason's upper lip curled contemptuously, but he said nothing, and spread his gloved hand farther over his mouth to hide the expression as the Muggles came on the scene. While Eleor worked out his song-and-dance to distract the Muggles -- Jason himself would have simply Confunded them, but to each his own -- the former Auror glanced at Radley from the corner of his eye. The younger man did not look at all well, and for a brief moment Jason found some sympathy for him.

Then he remembered the reason Radley was undoubtedly looking so unwell, and his mind was completely redirected to Raynor again. As Eleor led the Muggles away, he turned again to Room 416 and started limping in that direction, cane clicking on the polished floor.

"MacDonell's stopped in. He wants to see Tam.  Don't suppose I could act like the cowardly scum I am and ask you if that's all right, yeah?"

"Ye could," Jason said quietly, though loudly enough that both wizards could hear him. He shifted his left hand so that the handle of his wand slid just a bit out of his sleeve and into his grip. His voice had lost the burning anger, and morphed to an icy chill that those who knew him would recognize as even more dangerous. "But ye only have the one life to spend. Do nay push me to violence, boy."

The emerald eyes shifted to Radley, and lost just a fraction of their hostile, narrowed malevolence. "Ye must know I'm nay going to hurt her, Archer," he pointed out. "Stand aside."

Frowning, as if the word took great effort, he added with a sigh, "Please."

 For the first time in a while, Archer was not in the mood to laugh at anyone’s ridiculousness.  If he weren’t so anxious about what was going on and all of the things he failed to understand in this damned place, he might have been able to understand what was going on out here, but not the case.  There was a distinct chaos that he disliked and it made his heart beat irregularly.  Groaning slightly, he grabbed the coffee cup from Jonas’ hand, not caring too much which he might have actually drank from – he supposed this place could not have been clean – sick people everywhere – he might as well take his chances.

With that, he took a sip and was able to focus a little better, just the mere suggestion that there was caffeine in his system perked him up.  Archer blinked and took in the circus comment.  “Huh?” he raised his eyebrows, then looked at MacDonell who appeared as displeased  as he ever could.  Archer only thought he saw that face once – and that had been long ago – most assuredly covering up some small hint of amusement at the fact that Archer and Tamis had been arguing like a cat and dog. 

Part of him reverted back to that state and averted his eyes for the moment, taking in the scene, knowing that look could not be replicated by anyone.  No matter how strong the polyjuice potion there was a very distinct feeling when MacDonell entered the scene and he had it, the kind that restricted his chest a little – and with the stress he was feeling currently, he thought he might have felt a twinge of pain in his arm for a moment.  Shaking his head, he was fooling himself. 

He opened his mouth to speak to Jonas, but was shushed by the presence of the rotund security guard and his lackey, far taller and less filled out than the other.  They looked immediately Adon, the one in charge of keeping the security guards in order, and Archer held his breath for the explanation.  Adon got to it quickly though, distracted them right off and Archer felt himself grow slightly less anxious.  That was all he needed, to deal with the muggle authorities.  He was sure they had terms to throw at him that he wouldn’t understand in the same way these healers wanted to act like they were so much smarter than anyone else.  He hoped Jonas had some of the same problems he had understanding them, just not too many that would distract him from being able to translate. 

Looking back to MacDonell and then Jonas, it was apparent the tensions had not dropped.  He took another sip of coffee and nodded at his indication that he would not hurt Tamis.  “Just… keep the wand in your pocket,” he said with more of a pleading tone than anything, he didn’t want any magic disrupting the boxes.  They were what was keeping her alive, at least that’s what they told him, and he knew anything even remotely magical would set them whirring and beeping like they had before. 

Moving at his strained please, Archer stood up straight and opened the door wider, revealing the small room with messy interior, the large bed and very small woman in it, the machines surrounding her and keeping track of various things that muggles thought they could quantify.  Archer let out a deep breath and took another sip of coffee.  “She’s still sleeping,” Archer indicated to MacDonell, “Heavy potions,” he explained in the best terms he had, “the pseudo-healers are telling me whatever it is stabilizes her condition… takes away whatever pain she might be feeling.” 

He was looking at Tamis as he spoke, paying very little regard to the other man in the room.  With a sigh, he shook his head and dropped his shoulders, glancing out of the room to Jonas in the doorway.  “Thanks, mate,” he said quietly, “Give a few minutes, yeh?”

There were so many responses that the private investigator would have liked to shoot off in response.  Pointing out that questioning his resolve, when he'd run into the bloody fire with them at the Tawse house; making note of the fact that it was all well and good for a pureblooded wizard to stand and natter on about not abandoning blokes during the war, when no one had been out for MacDonell's head just because they had happened to not like his parentage.  The attack, though not wholly unexpected, was too much when he was already exhausted from the events of the day before.

The words stung at the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back, first when Adon cut in with the nickname and then when Archer replied in so strained a tone.  Firing off a quick retort at MacDonell wouldn't help Tamis.  Bristling and starting a fight outside her hospital room certainly wouldn't help Tamis, especially when the insult was nothing that he couldn't live with.  The red-haired man took a deep breath and swallowed any quick remarks, just as MacDonell decided to quietly put his own two cents in again.

Jonas turned to stare at the Scottish wizard, his face unexpressive.  It was an effort of will to remember how to count as he kept his mouth firmly shut and watched Archer lead the other man inside.  The private investigator waited in the doorway, leaning one arm against the frame, as he impassively observed the two men entering the room and making their way to his old friend's bedside, Radley using analogies to explain her condition.

It obviously took a moment for the other man to remember that he was there.  At his former partner's request, he raised his eyebrows and then shrugged, glancing briefly at MacDonell.

"Of course, Arch," he said nonchalantly, stepping back into the hallway and leaving the door open behind him.  With the shape Radley was in, Jonas wasn't fond of the idea of leaving the Auror alone with anyone, no matter how bloody insane they struck him, but forcing the issue at this point wasn't going to help.  He clung to that as his mantra.  "I'll give you a shout if anyone's coming."