Post by Max Kameren on Mar 12, 2019 23:07:48 GMT -5
The humid summer air was still deep into the night, breathing hot air in through the doorways of St. Mungo’s Hospital when a patient passed through them. Though in London the early morning fell entirely ordinary, the hospital was fully staffed in preparation for an onslaught; news had been broken to the higher-ups at the hospital that a conflict was taking place, one that would gravely require their skills. They just didn’t know when.
Albert shifted nervously at the command center. His quill twisted in his fingers and hovered over the parchment every few moments, waiting for something to write. Normally the surgeon was cool-headed under pressure, even laughing in the face of the darkest curse or the gristliest injuries. Anything was possible; under his deft fingers even the most hopeless cases had been healed. But this time was different. This time the tension of the coming hospital rush seemed to lurch forward like a funeral march, with healers drifting off in worried thought or trading fruitless asks for information. It was more personal, this time.
Their kids were out there.
Not theirs specifically – Albert and Milton had never had children. Instead the Hospital was their baby; each trainee and healer had been taken under the Bonham family’s wing for centuries. Rowena Covington and Max Kameren were the most extreme cases of that paternal dynamic. Albert watched especially closely as they each grew from promising healers, to experts in their chosen fields, only to be pushed away from the hospital by outside sources that meant to destroy them. This was where the battle began. And out there, somewhere, it was ending.
A firm hand fell on Albert’s shoulder and squeezed. He took a deep breath, taking momentary solace in the comforting touch of his husband behind him. He spun the chair around to face him then stood, stepping aside for the Head of St. Mungo’s to resume his place. “There you are, darling. Where were you? Any news?” Albert’s voice was low as he tried to catch Milton’s gaze.
Milton shook his head, his stare straight ahead but Albert could see the tension in his shoulders. “Needed the Floo, coordinating with the Ministry. The battle’s over but there’s been an explosion. It’s taking field healers longer than expected to navigate the battlefield. They’re saying we should have the first survivors coming through any moment.”
An expectant silence filled in between them and Albert frowned. “...And? Have you heard from them?”
Milton sighed. “No. I expect if we do hear from them, it will be when they come through those doors. If they come through those doors.”
Albert frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. But he quickly didn’t have time to dwell on it, as the front doors of St. Mungo’s burst open at once and filled with the urgent cries and pained screams of others who fought in the battle, and their lives needed attention first. With one last reassuring touch from his husband, Albert found his healing unit and waded into the chaos.
Albert shifted nervously at the command center. His quill twisted in his fingers and hovered over the parchment every few moments, waiting for something to write. Normally the surgeon was cool-headed under pressure, even laughing in the face of the darkest curse or the gristliest injuries. Anything was possible; under his deft fingers even the most hopeless cases had been healed. But this time was different. This time the tension of the coming hospital rush seemed to lurch forward like a funeral march, with healers drifting off in worried thought or trading fruitless asks for information. It was more personal, this time.
Their kids were out there.
Not theirs specifically – Albert and Milton had never had children. Instead the Hospital was their baby; each trainee and healer had been taken under the Bonham family’s wing for centuries. Rowena Covington and Max Kameren were the most extreme cases of that paternal dynamic. Albert watched especially closely as they each grew from promising healers, to experts in their chosen fields, only to be pushed away from the hospital by outside sources that meant to destroy them. This was where the battle began. And out there, somewhere, it was ending.
A firm hand fell on Albert’s shoulder and squeezed. He took a deep breath, taking momentary solace in the comforting touch of his husband behind him. He spun the chair around to face him then stood, stepping aside for the Head of St. Mungo’s to resume his place. “There you are, darling. Where were you? Any news?” Albert’s voice was low as he tried to catch Milton’s gaze.
Milton shook his head, his stare straight ahead but Albert could see the tension in his shoulders. “Needed the Floo, coordinating with the Ministry. The battle’s over but there’s been an explosion. It’s taking field healers longer than expected to navigate the battlefield. They’re saying we should have the first survivors coming through any moment.”
An expectant silence filled in between them and Albert frowned. “...And? Have you heard from them?”
Milton sighed. “No. I expect if we do hear from them, it will be when they come through those doors. If they come through those doors.”
Albert frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. But he quickly didn’t have time to dwell on it, as the front doors of St. Mungo’s burst open at once and filled with the urgent cries and pained screams of others who fought in the battle, and their lives needed attention first. With one last reassuring touch from his husband, Albert found his healing unit and waded into the chaos.
