In so many ways, St. Mungo's wasn't like any hospital Jacoba had ever been in.  Not that she'd been in many, mind you. 

She'd set out to find the place the moment she'd heard Adon was there.  Getting directions to the place hadn't been easy.  Pacing up and down the street where the hospital was supposed to be had turned up nothing.  At one point, she'd shouted in frustration at a closed department store window - she'd just managed to have enough presence to simply yell at the window in German.  At least the other pedestrians would think her simply a crazy tourist rather than simply crazy.  But, shouting at the dated mannequins had achieved nothing. 

She'd phoned Dennis next - luckily, he'd been out and about in muggle London and the call had gone through.  Any other time, Jacoba would have found it amusing that few of the people that actually would find having Dennis Creevey's number in her phone worthy of envy would actually find value in having anyone's number in a phone.  But, there wasn't time for that.  After a hurried explanation and response, Dennis explained Tilly usually got to St. Mungo's using the floo network.  A quick taxi ride back to the Leaky Cauldron (the closest, easily accessible fireplace connected to the floo network that she knew of) and a moment later, she found herself in the reception area. 

By the time she'd made her way through the line to the welcome witch, Jacoba had started to question what kind of reception she'd actually get.  The Ministry couldn't understand 'live in girlfriend.'  How likely was St. Mungo's to do any better?  Hospitals, even in the muggle world, were so finicky about 'blood relatives and legal partners' and they didn't even have to worry about all the muggle-wizard nonsense.  By the time she'd reached the welcome witch's window, she decided presenting herself as Auror Eleor's muggle girlfriend wasn't going to help her chances of seeing him much. Not until he was able to ask for her. 

She'd never been known for her patience.  And, she'd decided that less understandable information was better. 

It had been two years since she'd graduated from Landeschule Pforta but Jacoba took full advantage of what she could remember from her two years of Hebrew.  She didn't worry much about what she was saying - she just made sure she was sounded frantic enough (which wasn't that much of a stretch) and annunciated Adon Eleor quite clearly. 

There was one distinct similarity between St. Mungo's and other hospitals, though: there were no spare sleeping spots for those who insisted on remaining close while waiting for signs of improvement in their loved ones.  Years of crashing in any variety of sleeping situations had prepared Jacoba well for this, however.  She'd long ago learned the art of stretching half of a blanket underneath her between two chairs to form a moderately comfortable hammock.  She'd stuck close - as close as she could for however long as she could.  There were moments of consciousness but they were usually far too short and only slightly encouraging.  Only encouraging because it wasn't discouraging. 

She'd been reading to pass the time, suspended by the blanket stretched between the two chairs when she'd dosed off.  One hand had held the book.  The other had taken a firm grip of the bed, lest anyone try to use her dozing off as an opportunity to boot her out of the spot.  But, her grip on the bed had loosened some as she dozed, leaving her arm slumped loosely on the bed. 

Adon came up from unconsciousness like a man from water, with a light gasp and a groggy, sharpening awareness of things. The pain in his right hand, which felt unbearable. The disembodied feeling of his head. The stabbing pain in his stomach, and the nausea it prompted.

He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all, and he wanted to just go back to that warm, dark, blanket-ish place he'd just come from.

He gave a dull groan as he twisted his hands tightly in the sheets. The burning pain focussed in his fingertips caused him to give a low hiss. He couldn't figure out what was happening, why was it so cold, and so dark - what was going on?!

Adon managed to crack an eye open. The room was dark, still. It took several moments for him to make out anything. His bed was white. It wasn't a bed he'd seen before. No--no. He remembered seeing it once before, when . . . had the Dead-Doctor come in earlier? There'd been some sort of explosion.

He was -- he was fairly certain they'd established he wasn't dead. He wouldn't hurt like this if he was. . .

A swallowed sigh and he looked to his left, to see a window that looked out on a dark, night-time world, and then right to see a slumped form. Adon held his breath, tensing for a moment, trying to understand. A body?

Head lolling forward -- it was hard to see any features; if only he could get that other eye to open . . .

"Hey," he managed a hoarse cry. "Hey."

Sound from the bed next to her pulled Jacoba to full wakefulness.  Her eyes flickered open and she lifted her head, turning towards Adon.  He'd found his way to some version of wakefulness before - this wasn't, exactly, new.  But, usually, those periods of consciousness were brief and fleeting and, with little to do he usually quickly fell quiet again. 

But, this time, sleep didn't reclaim him right away.  In fact, one eye opened sluggishly and he lifted his head, looking towards her.  At that moment, he couldn't have appeared more beautiful if he'd been dancing a waltz in a full tux.  But, she resisted the initial urge to cry out in excitement and relief and satisfied herself with simply smiling back at him. 

Jacoba shifted in her cocoon-hammock of blankets, trying to struggle upright but only managing to get herself more tangled.  Her first impulse was to reach for him.  To feel some confirmation of what her eyes were showing her in the form of responsive muscle tone under her fingers.  But, reason caught up with her and she hesitated, drawing her hand back to her.  He appeared awake but he also seemed confused, disoriented.  It wasn't outside the realm of possibilities that he'd misinterpret and unexpected touch. 

"Hey," she answered back, quietly at first.  She tried to disentangle herself a little more from the wrapping of blankets and turned more fully towards Adon as he cried out, again. 

"Adon, it's alright," she offered, resisting the urge, again, to reach for him.  "You're still at the hospital.  The pretend-to-be-Catholic one.  I suspect old Saint Mungo's a little confused as to why his hospital's not in Glasgow and there are no salmon on the walls."  Something told Jacoba that Adon wasn't quite feeling up to enjoying the humor of the inconsistencies that Jacoba had pondered to keep herself occupied over the last several hours. 

"Do you need something ... should I call a nur- Healer?"  She already knew the room lacked call buttons. 

The body was moving. And the body was speaking, so it wasn't dead. They were all okay. Especially as the body began to reassure him. And the body--Jacoba. . . Joh. . .


Adon smiled at the realisation.

"Oh." He said. "Joh." His face broke into a boyish grin as he slowly slurred, "Oooooh-joooh. . . Joh." For added measure, he explained: "Rhymes." Her name -- he hadn't thought about it before, really. But it was pretty funny. And rhymed. And when he thought about that, he wasn't thinking about how much he hurt.


Except. . . when he thought about how he didn't hurt, he remembered that he did.


"Should I call a nur-Healer?" she asked. Adon frowned.


He didn't want the Dead-doctor back. Not yet. He wasn't dead, and even if she wasn't doing that anymore . . . it just . . . unless she came with more potions that'd knock him out.


"No," he decided at last. "No Healers." He considered the offer, though. "M'wan find solace in your warm bosom." The language--taken from Sasha's Letter of Exile, as he called it--was quoted frequently enough that it didn't take much presence of mind to summon the contents. He still found it funny. Particularly as he had that too-heavy, warm feeling in his body that befuddled the senses. His body ached, but it felt too heavy. Maybe if someone else held him, it wouldn't feel . . . like this.


He was silent several moments, breathing heavily through his nose before he managed: "I don't really like fish."

He recognized her.  Jacoba shifted her chair closer and finally reached a hand out, resting it gently on Adon's.  She leaned forward and pressed an equally gentle kiss to his temple, chuckling when he seemed to find personal amusement in the sound her nickname made when drunk. 

"Oooooh-joooh. . . Joh.  Rhymes."

"Doh."  She had plenty of experience talking with stoned people - though, for better or worse, most of the time she had been stoned, too.  She hadn't realized how amusing it was being the sober one in the room.  "Never realized that before," she admitted, leaning back, again. 

She chuckled, again as a touch of color rose in her cheeks when Adon quoted that letter.  Did the Governors have any idea how many jokes their choice of words had morphed into.  Sasha, of course, had been mortified by the wording.  Apparently, he was less thrilled about being sent to his sister's warm bosom.  Adon had picked up on that discomfort quickly.  Adon was probably lucky Sasha considered himself a pacifist. 

Hooking a finger in the neckline of her shirt, Jacoba tugged it forward and peered down in it.  "Is that where it's been hiding?" she asked, closing one eye as if inspecting some work of art from a new perspective.  "Still don't see it." 

She dropped her hand, watching quietly as Adon breathed through a wave of pain.  It was a frustratingly helpless feeling - having to watch, unable to really do anything about it.  "It's alright," she offered when he finally spoke, again.  Trying to draw the conversation to whatever would be a distraction.  "I doubt they like you much, either."  She reached out and gingerly brushed the hair back from his forehead. 

"Erwin swears by octopus.  I swear they look like they'd crawl right back up your throat."

Well, this was pretty nice. The contact--it stung a bit, as anything did--the sheets stung when he shifted, his hands stung when he moved his fingers--but the softness was new.  And pleasant. He snickered at her comeback. Brilliant. There was a reason why he was dating that girl. She was brilliant. Muggle and brilliant.


In fact, she was so brilliant that nothing really made sense that she said after that. Which was to say . . . what was she saying?


She was looking down her shirt, looking for -- well her bosoms. She didn't see it--"Impossible," he interjected. "They're not. . . you know, huge, but they're. . ." he sighed. He shouldn't be talking about this. It was a bad idea, when he didn't have enough words in his head to fill his mouth. He'd just say anything that came in to fill the vacancy.


The assurance that salmon didn't like him, it shouldn't have bothered, but he shifted--that was uncomfortable--and gave a grunt. "Wha's Erwin know anyhow?" he quipped, before falling back into silence, closing his eyes, reaching up for his throat. Everything burned and ached--as though every muscle, every fiber of his being, had run 50 kilometers too far.


Muggle and brilliant.


And Muggle.


"You find me alright?" he asked, cracking an eye open curiously.

Jacoba arched a confused eyebrow at Adon before glancing down once more, hiding her blush.  The misunderstand was, perhaps, logical.  Especially given he wasn't running with all cylinders and, even when they were fully lucid, men's thoughts tended to have a predictable pattern.  When she looked back up, though, she was grinning cheekily as she shook her head.  Trying to make a conscious effort not to add to his muddled awkwardness, she tried not to laugh.  "I was looking for the solace in...nevermind." 

She cleared her throat in an attempt to clear the bulk of the laugh away but it was the obvious shift in Adon's demeanor that managed to chase the rest of it away.  It was probably for the best that Adon had closed his eyes in the wake of his quip about Erwin as Jacoba wasn't certain she could have managed to hide the uncertainty and hurt that flickered across her expression. 

Jacoba glanced over her shoulder and out the window, taking a moment to reason with herself that it was likely those potions that were making him say things he wouldn't otherwise say.  After all, the idea that Adon might be at all jealous of Erwin just seemed an entirely ludicrous one.  And, surely, Adon was fully aware of that when he was functioning with a full dozen. 

Adon was watching her through one eye when his question drew her attention back.  Especially given the last couple days - the werewolf attacks, her brother and now, especially, this, it seemed a potentially loaded question.  She was well aware there were any number of different ways that question might have been intended but she decided, almost immediately, on a simple, literal interpretation. 

"Yeah," she offered quietly, nodding her head, smiling.  "I do.  I find you more than alright.  I-"  She hesitated then fished around, quickly, for a distraction.

"Alright other than the obvious, of course," she offered, pleased to find her voice had returned to its normal pitch and rhythm, tinged with edge of humor.  She gestured at the bed.  "Stark white's not exactly your color.  What's that stuff their giving you, anyhow?  It seems to pack a fairly decent punch."

At the compliment--it was a compliment, yes? Adon smiled cheekily. "Hee. You too, babe," he smiled back at her, then squinted slightly as she looked like she was about to. . . There was a "but" comment somewhere in there.


The obvious. wasn't obvious. Adon squinted further. "That I'm in the hospital?" he asked. "Oh. That's. . . that's what I meant, though. You found me in the hospital alright? I mean. You're. . ." he closed his eyes. They hurt, squinting like that. "You're a Muggle. So --"


This was exhausting. He puffed air from his cheeks and arched his back, trying to stretch, but feeling a burning in his belly instead. He shrunk back into the pillows.


"What's that stuff they're giving you, anyhow?"

"'s purple," he explained. "'S great. So are you. Great. Not purple." He opened his eyes. "Why? Are they bringing more?" he asked, hopefully. "The healers are real nice, here."

"Thanks, doll."  Jacoba grinned cheekily at Adon.  At the poor, mildly confused Adon. 

There were, of course, still many levels of depth Jacoba could get into with her clarification.  Many of which she doubted this was the right place or time to explore.  He was ... loopy.  She was on the relief side of the emotional turbulence of sitting by a loved one's side bedside for hours. 

"Yes.  That you're in the hospital.  But, I suppose, the ... oh."  Jacoba blinked, suddenly realizing her misunderstanding.  The color rose swiftly to her cheeks once more and she grinned, rubbing her forehead with her fingers.  "Ah.  Yes.  Sorry."  So far, she was doing brilliantly.  Maybe one just got better at these bedside conversations with experience.  Or ... something. 

"I found you alright.  Between Niobe, you and my brother, I think I've spent more time here than I have in muggle hospitals."  That wasn't entirely the truth, depending on how one looked at it.  "It was my first time getting in on my own but Dennis gave me some pointers." 

She glanced towards the door, shaking her head.  "No.  Not that I can tell.  But, I can go ask them to."  She leaned over and carefully unwrapped herself from the blanket, trying situate herself so she wouldn't fall to the floor once the tension was removed from the fabric.