Double Trouble

Jack apparated them outside the enterance of St Mungos, gasping their business and stumbling inside, pulling Vito Dee Symons with her. She could not see; sort of. Her vision was coming in and out, swelling until she saw distorted things before shrinking, leaving that blare you saw when you suddenly turned off a muggle television.

She had been minding her business when the werewolf and the other man, Tim Collins, had jumped her, beating her, crushing her wand, whose remains lied in her pocket. She had one of their wands and had used it to cut the enchanted cuffs that had mangled Vito's wrists, tearing the skin away. She had used Episkey, but they were far from healed.

She imagined they were a sight to see. When she could see Vito, she saw his white suit was drenched in blood, as were his hands. Jack's red hair seemed to have spread everywhere, as half her face was caked in blood. She was fairly sure one of her ribs were broken, as were a few fingers and her knee felt displaced. She was on the verge of unconsciousness; she knew that.

"Excuse me," she called out, too exhausted to find help. "We need help." And she slumped downwards. She reached out, catching herself on the counter, leaving streaks of blood. She lolled her head up and quickly explained, wincing- she felt as though one of her lungs had burst open. She told them about being attacked, about Vito arriving, about him having some weird cuffs that had shrunk and shrunk and shrunk...

The woman did not even look at her. Just sent her to sit. She did, too weak to help Vito too. He joined her and she let her head loll on her shoulder, unconsciousness tempting her.

The world spun around Vito, his surroundings blurring together to form an entirely new planet made up of lines and smears of color; he would never grow used to that dizzying method of wizarding transportation…

Vito only just caught himself before falling when his polished shoes- which were possibly the only thing on him that had not been painted maroon during the evening’s events- came into contact with the ground once more, though the pavement was far different than he remembered it; Jack had managed to apperate to the sidewalk just outside of St. Mungo’s. Bless her soul; now, they were safe from traffic! Vito smirked, recognizing that cars were not the worst danger that they had faced, what whith his blood supply running low, and Jack’s body being so battered that it appeared as though he had his arm rested on the shoulder of a zombie.

They were both so very close to passing away, and yet, too stubborn to give in to what fate had planned for each of them.

Warm lights glittered upon the glass of many of the building’s windows, calling to Vito’s instincts, calling so loudly that he could have sworn that he could hear it deep within his ears. Come… come and you shall remain.

After inhaling sharply, Vito straightened himself, adjusting his neck so to hold his head high, and walked towards the hospital’s entrance. His legs had great difficulty supporting the weight of his body, having weakened with the rest of his body, and so, every step he took was as forced. but he continued on stubbornly with Jack Dyllan at his side.

Upon shoving the double doors open with one of his shoulders, their was an explosion of glaring white light, which headed straight for the door, as though it were desperate to escape the hospital. Hadn’t they seemed warm and welcoming from outside the hospital? Vito raised one of his torn wrists before his face with his fingers spread out, so to shield his eyes from the torturous glare.

The ringing of the phone at the admition desk, as well as the scuffling feet of healers rushing from room to room met Vito’s ears- every one of his seneses was being bombarded by the elements of what was supposed to be a haven for the injured. He couldn’t imagine what sort of damage was being done to him as he inhaled the strong scent of the cleaner that they had slathered the walls in and forced his eyes to look straight ahead so that he could make it inside the hospital completely; he had not even passed through the doorway.

Jack immediately took it upon herself to sign them in, and began to explain the evening’s events to the blond receptionist- the legit story, which caused Vito to wince as he listened; the cuff that his wrists had been bound by moments prior was one of the Ministry’s designs, and the healers were bound to make the connection. Immediately, Vito’s devoted his thoughts to coming up with an escape route when he spotted the aurors. He scanned the doors that they had just entered, despite the complaints of his eyes as the lights continued to sting them- was there another exit? There was always a fire escape…

Suddenly, Vito felt Jack leave his side, tearing him from his thoughts; she had finished with her storytelling, and had made her way over to one of the chairs along the wall in a row of ten. They had been told to wait? It took Vito a moment to turn away from the receptionist’s desk, resisting the temptation to add her to the list of people he’d hit over the head that evening; he did not have the blood left to waste on attacking those who upset him, and he knew that the act of moving his hands in such a way would cause his wound to speed up the process of draining him completely.

With a scowl on his face and his molars grinding against one another, he took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs near Jack, who appeared as though she were seconds from falling to the marble floors. The poltergeist sighed and lifted his hands one more; he was having difficulty flexing his fingers, which had begun to turn a dusty shade of blue beneath the hardening blood they were covered in.

He would not loose any fingers.

“Prepare yourself, doll,” Vito warned Jack, having formulated a plan after giving it a few minutes of thought. “Tell the nearest healer my heart isn’t beating. I will make certain that their monitors don’t detect a pulse, so it will seem ligit,” he added; he was going to make certain that a healer looked their way.

Suddenly, he fell.

They sat in silence for awhile, while Jack watched the dark shapes form and morph in her strange new sight of shadows. In complete darkness, she saw the impressions everything made around her and just when she decided she could in fact live like this, her real sight would return, burning images into her brain so everything was too bright, too vivid, too clear.... Before shadows swallowed her vision once more.

Vito was next to her, and was silent... That did not mean good things. For her, it was good. She did not need to try and put up her usual front. But that also meant he was not doing so well. Suddenly, he leaned over and he whispered the plan in her ear and she tried to react, tried to stop or question him, but she had learned long ago... She didn't want to, but it was best to trust Vito.

He fell and she reached out, grabbing his arm, trying to muster the proper emotion, but finding she was too close behind him to do so- more effort and she would fall over on top of him. "His heart's not beating!" she yelled, slumping so she was kneeling next to him, looking as though she had lowered her head to his chest when really she was leaning against him, her breaths coming in short gasps. He may have a plan, but she was just hoping to survive at this point... Something she was not sure was going to happen.

Khaat had taken a rare meal break with Michael. She didn't get to see him much anymore. He had taken her out to a quiet park not even a quick blink, it seemed, from the hospital. He had cooked for her. Grilled salmon fillets with an Asian glaze, a brown and wild rice pilaf with edamame, onion, garlic, and some sort of wonderful exotic seasoning, and a crisp fresh salad with a vinaigrette. He had added icy cold sparkling cider. It was a delightful break in the midst of a busy day. She had enjoyed sitting on the green grass and taking in the sweet fresh smells of spring all around her. And when lunch was over, he walked her back. She hadn't wanted to go back because it had all been a little slice of bliss. She hadn't wanted to leave it.

When she entered, she saw the chaos of the emergency room. It hadn't been that way an hour ago when she left it. She frowned, and at that moment, Michael disapparated the picnic basket in his hand. He rushed towards a young woman that Khaat didn't recognize at first. It was Jack. She'd seen her at least once before.

"Jack!" Michael called to her. He shouted at one of the healers, demanding a gurney, and he picked her up and laid the young woman on it. Michael wasn't a healer, but he had never hesitated to help someone who was in trouble. Never. Khaat didn't say a word about him stepping in, even though he wasn't a healer here or anywhere else for that matter.

"Michael," Khaat ordered, "take her into room 6. I'm coming." She went over to a man in a white suit. She flicked her wand at him to levitate him onto a second gurney. "Treatment room 8," she ordered. "And get another healer down here--now!" Neither of her new patients looked in any other state but critical. Right now there was just too much blood to tell which one was bleeding out faster. The staff began to surround both gurneys, and Khaat went to follow up with the man first but until there was a second healer, she would try to be in both places at once.

Jack did not like being handled. She was much too dependent on herself to be treated as though she needed anyone else. She did not like being helpless. In her opinion, no one could help her better than she could help herself. If she was being herself, she would have objected, would have kicked and thrashed, put the not-exactly-stolen-but-not-exactly-borrowed wand to use...

But she was not herself. This was not some sprained ankle some gash, some usual injury she could help herself with. Like it or not, she would die without assistance. She wondered if Vito would be thinking as stubbornly as her, or if he felt like he would be treated like a King, lifted and rushed, unable to do anything for himself. It was hard to tell, really.

The voice that pierced her drone like state was familiar- Michael Tremaine, if she was not mistaken. she could not wonder why he was here to help, just accept that he was. He lifted her onto something and heard a woman's orders- was that Khaat Lupin? She heard that she was destined for room 6, and Vito for room 8. And then she forced herself to stop thinking about her poltergeist partner in crime, and to think of her own state of affairs.

As she was whisked towards the appropriate room, she tried to explain to Michael, but each breath and word was agonizing. Good thing she was never one for small talk. "I was attacked... Werewolf and Death Eater. Beat me. My ribs and some fingers feel broken. Knee displaced. Lung feels funny. Bleeding, gashes, bumps everywhere. Sight is coming in and out." She said it all professionally, trying to hide the pain, as though the more she disguised it, the better she would be.

Michael had a habit of just taking over. He never saw the point of waiting for engraved invitations. If he had, he'd never have had much of a career in the first place. He ordered the healers to help him take Jack into the treatment room, issuing orders as if he worked there himself. And for some weird reason they were taking his orders. He really would have to talk to Ozzy about that.

"Don't talk, Jack," Michael said to her gently. She was lucky to be alive. "You can give me the facts later." He clutched at a wad of gauze pads and began to use direct pressure on one of her bleeding wounds. He looked up at the woman who now stood in the doorway. Hannah. Robert and Khaat's secretary. "You go find Ozz....Robert! Now! Don't you make me turn you into something he'll sit on his shelf!" She rolled her eyes at him and left, not the least bit afraid or amused. Not as he had intended her to be.

He was not a healer, but he had had his own share of close shaves. He got an ice pack from one of the healers and used it to lay gently against Jack's head. By the looks of it, he knew she had to have a hell of a headache. The ice would help that annoying "Brains-pounding-out-of-one's-skull" sensation. And if Robert didn't get here in a moment or less, he'd be in one of his own jars on his own shelf.

The moment Vito’s back hit the chilled, rock-hard floor, Jack had followed, dropping to the ground after him like a plant that had wilted, and pressed her ear to his chest- but as Vito watched her with glassy and unmoving eyes, he had trouble deciding if she was an impeccable actress, or if she had simply decided that it was a good opportunity to rest her own aching body.

It had not taken much time at all for a healer to notice that their were two bloodied figures lying on the floor in the middle of lobby, being tripped over by the ignorant crowd.

Jack was torn from Vito, having been recognized by the concerned women who had come to their aid, and was laid immediately taken to a room. Room six… Vito thought, having decided that it would be an important piece of information to remember once his injuries had been taken care of.

Vito had been occupied with his thoughts when a levitation charm had been cast on him, and was quite shocked by the sudden movement. He had instinctively trained himself to fight if he were ever being taken by surprise, but just as he prepared to vanish from sight and, in turn, surprise his attackers, Vito remembered that he was supposed to be dead. He stopped himself; it was his turn to be taken care of. It was risky, being near those who had the power to whisper his name and location in the ear of the Minister of Magic, but he needed healing, and he cared too much about his hands to loose them.

“Treatment room eight! The healer ordered.

Vito fought the smirk that threatened to crawl across his face upon hearing the title of the room that he would be moved to; in order to “revive” Vito, they would need to follow the standard procedure, but standard procedure would not work with a poltergeist, and he could just picture their pouty facial expressions when they did not succeed.

Michael told her to be quiet and she heeded his advice, because the effort it took to speak was beginning to wipe her out. She knew Michael was not a healer, but he was an adventurer, like herself. he knew some basics,from experience, the way she did. He dabbed away some blood and put gauze on one of her wounds... At this pace, she would be wrapped in gauze.

She felt cold descend onto her forehead and she felt relief. If she had her knapsack she would have used her ice pack, good idea Mic- She stopped her train of thought. She always carried her knapsack with her. But it was not with her now. That meant it was on the bloodstained street in Knockturn's Alley.

She cursed, loudly and unexpectedly. The abandonment of her knapsack hurt her oddly for some reason- probably her mind's way of distracting itself from the fact that if she closed her eyes she might never open them. She tried not to follow the knapsack train of thought though. Sense of loss led her to thoughts of her broken wand, something she could not bear to think about.

It's just a stick. Just a stick she tried to convince herself.

She bit her lip. But it's MY stick.

Khaat followed the man into the room and laid her hand on his forehead. There were no signs of life that her senses could detect. She began using more standard means. Pulse, heartbeat, breathing--no matter what she used, she found none. She examined his injuries even more closely. It was possible that he had bled out before getting there. Her assistants had begun working on restorative spells to replace the blood loss, and they were working to try to get the skin to seal, to mend itself. The skin was not responding as it would if the body itself still had enough life to try to resurrect itself. She watched her healers working frantically, trying to revive the man in the white suit--or what had been a white suit. No action they did garnered a response.

"Enough," Khaat said. "He's gone." There was a reluctance in her staff to follow her orders, to give up. She just waited until it set in with them. They slowly gave in. She called the official time of death, and labelled him as a John Doe until they had an official identification. No one had found any personal belongings on him, but then again, there hadn't been time really. She completed the necessary identification, and had the body apparated downstairs to the morgue and secured in a refrigerated locker until the autopsy could be completed. Protocol dictated that eventually they would file a report with the ministry to identify the man and try to find his family, notify them, and assist them in their grief. It also dictated that Khaat would also tend to the staff that had cared for him to be sure they were coping well with his loss.

That freed her to go see to Jack. She didn't like to lose anybody, but she still had jack to tend to. She washed her hands well and moved from Emergency treatment room eight down to six. With a little luck, Jack would be in good enough shape that she could be moved into the Trauma Wing or into the Intensive Care unit when they had the worst of the damage assessed and tended.

Khaat found Michael doing his best to care for things for Jack, and he was visibly relieved when Khaat did arrive. He mentioned an attack by a werewolf and a Death Eater and began to list a great list of injuries that Jack had apparently mentioned to him. She was taking in every word as she went over and laid her hand on Jack's forehead--her method of assessing the body's vital signs and assessing injuries.

"Director, who do we contact about her?" one of the assistants asked.

"Me," Michael said assertively. Khaat looked up at him with a slight frown but relented.

"Michael Tremaine--for now," Khaat said. Michael had his reasons, and Khaat trusted them. Under any other circumstance, it would not have been legal. Given the circumstances, though, the dire nature of the situation always gave healers a certain amount of freedom and leverage. Khaat had no idea how Michael knew this girl, but Michael was insistent. Khaat allowed it.

"Jack," Khaat said, "It's Khaat. You'll be alright. We're going to take care of the bleeding and the breathing first. And we'll see to that knee and all those broken bones in your hand. You'll feel better when you wake up." She laid her hand back on Jack's forehead and used a spell to send her into a deep anaesthetized state so she could tend Jack properly.

"Shall I make a room arrangement, Director?" one of the healers asked Khaat.

"Yes. Trauma Wing please, on the second floor," Khaat ordered. "For now, we need to take her upstairs."

Jack did not know what to take from Khaat coming into her room. She had thought Khaat was going to tend to Vito before her. Had Vito's plan to fake his death worked, and what did that mean for him- where was he? Had his wrists been healed at the very least? If not, Jack had a feeling she would end up doing research and performing haphazard healing spells. Maybe Chase could give her ideas, now that they were speaking. Names didn't need to be mentioned.

Jack tried not to dwell, but she had been tallying while she had waited. She and Vito never lost count of score, but this was a bit muddled. He had saved her, but he had also made her save him, make her have to sacrifice a bit of herself... And yet, he had taken care of those who had attacked her. It was hard to see who would come out of this owing the other one...

Maybe it was a sign that the score had long ago become too muddled to rely on.

She could not respond to their words, but nodded every time it seemed appropriate. Then Khaat was doing some spell and Jack felt her eyes closing. Her vision gave one more burst, one more chance to see the world unless she wouldn't be able to ever again, and then she slipped into sleep.