benjy fenwick, terrible idea. (![]() ![]() @ 2016-06-17 21:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | antonin dolohov, benjy fenwick |
WHO: Antonin Dolohov & Benjy Fenwick.
WHEN: Recently. Today, 17 June.
WHERE: St Mungo's.
SUMMARY: Previously, on Grey's Anatomy...
WARNINGS: References to violence, but ultimately pretty tame.
Late, late, late. St. Mungo’s always seemed more bustling when he was late, the hallways teeming with Healers, Mediwizards, visitors, and floating gurneys. The shuffling of their feet, the murmur of voices, and the general hubbub of the hospital all coalesced into a thudding tick-tock in Benjy’s ears as he rushed through the Spell Damage ward. He didn’t need to give Dolohov any reason to look askance at him, but he was juggling a tight schedule and — well, he was late. He sidestepped a Mediwitch escorting a patient with mushrooms sprouting over their face with a wink and a mouthed “Morning, Janice”, then skidded into a halt in front of Antonin Dolohov’s office. Why was the door open? Benjy let out a deep breath, smoothed out the front of his robes, and strode past the door, purposefully keeping his gaze averted. "Mr Fenwick!" Antonin called out, squashing any hope that Benjy might have had that he'd made it passed the open door unnoticed by the Head Healer in an instant. Antonin abandoned the Newton's Cradle on his desk that he'd been watching clack back and forth through his morning coffee break and sauntered up to the younger healer, his face a mask of a mild smile paired with a glare that was likely to shoot laser beams. "Running a little late, are we?" Immediately bristling at the sound of Dolohov’s voice, Benjy managed to keep the annoyance off his face as he turned to face his boss. He stared down at the floor for a moment, contrite and puppy-like, before glancing back up at the Head Healer. “Yeah, I know. Again. And I’m sorry about that, but Juliana — my sister — started screaming about having the worst cramps of her life and did the whole ‘you’re a Healer, heal me’ thing, and, well.” Then before Antonin could get a word in: “Then I had to pick up chocolate, but she wanted this special Pinoy chocolate, so I had to track that down, and then I had to go to another store for the tampons—” "Fenwick. Shush," Antonin motioned for him to zip it. While he wasn't thrown off by the mentions of menstrual cycles -- being the only parent of two daughters as they went through puberty had kept man!terror of periods at bay -- he wasn't looking for excuses. "It's fine. Everything's fine. In fact, every case of potential spell damage waited for your arrival today, so we're not understaffed at all," he added with a jovial smile. "Do you have any more of that chocolate?" Benjy blinked, processing Antonin’s bright smile and passive aggressive words. A small little chill went up his spine as he met the older man’s gaze, but it didn’t show on his face. Instead, he flashed him a guileless grin. “No, sorry. But I wasn’t going to pry chocolate from a hormonal woman, you know how it is.” Shrugging, Benjy started to walk backward, vaguely aware he could crash into someone, but mostly desperate to get away from this conversation. “Promise it won’t happen again, though! And I’ll make it up to with you chocolate!” He clasped a hand over his heart as he almost collided into a tentacle-armed woman, who shot him a Look. “Kisses, if need be!” Antonin took his glasses off, wiped at the smudges on them with his sleeve for a moment, and put them back on again before responding to the patient sitting in front of him in the waiting room. "Mrs. Knüppeldick, I assure you that your wait time is not being prolonged just because you happen to be Muggleborn." "Oh, a likely story from YOU," Greta Knüppeldick glared up at Antonin from her chair, eyes narrowed as she clutched her stomach. "I've seen the posters in Hogsmeade; I know what you get up to on your nights off." Antonin didn't bother trying to choke down his sigh this time. "Mrs. Knüppeldick, you were just telling Becki in Patient Registration about where you and your sister went out for lunch. And even if you have been hit with a bloating spell, a Code Blue patient who is bleeding out from a splinching incident is going to be pulled in first." "But what if I keep bloating until I EXPLODE?" "Fenwick," Antonin called over to the familiar mop of dark hair in Healer robes. "Please reassure Mrs. Knüppeldick that she likely only has gas." The familiar mop of dark hair in Healer robes strode over at once, chart for another patient in hand (the third improper use of an Engorgement Charm this week). Quickly glancing between the Head Healer and the patient, Benjy summoned a warm, reassuring smile for Mrs. Knüppeldick. “Healer Dolohov is right, ma’am. Bloating is the most common symptom for excess gas. But...” Head tilting to the side, he gave the woman an appraising look as he let out a considering hum. “There was another patient in here earlier this week who’d been hit with a stray bloating spell. Something about pranksters in Diagon Alley.” "I was IN Diagon Alley just this afternoon!" the woman gasped, pointing at Benjy with one finger and whacking Antonin in the arm with her other hand to imply her feelings of 'See? SEE!????' "This one knows his shit." Antonin used his free hand to pat the woman's "sympathetically," mainly using the tactic to hold her still so that she couldn't hit him anymore. "Yes, there was that case," Antonin noted, his mouth set in a straight line of irritation. "I'm so thankful that you brought that up. However, I believe that the issue in this case are the six burritos that she had for lunch taking their toll." “Six,” Benjy repeated, with just a hint of disbelief laced into his tone. But he quickly recovered, using his wand to gesture to Mrs. Knüppeldick’s exposed forearm. “That very well may be true, but would six burritos result into the red, puffiness you can see here? And here—” The wand flicked up to the woman’s face, moving about her mouth in a circular motion. “—there’s some swelling here.” He turned to face Antonin, arching an eyebrow. “The Code Blue should take precedence, of course, but we shouldn’t disregard Mrs. Knüppeldick’s concerns.” Antonin peered at the woman's supposed "red puffiness" down his nose and through his glasses, biting back a comment about how Benjy shouldn't mock the woman's adult acne, which was clearly induced by hormonal eating habits. A moment of doubt eased into his gut, though, upon spotting the, well, spots, that perhaps Fenwick was onto something. "Speaking of the Code Blue patient, I should be seeing to them. Fenwick, you seem as though you're handling things well enough here," Antonin noted, the words feeling wrong in his mouth. "Best of luck to you." He wasn't sure if he was talking to Benjy or Mrs. Knüppeldick as he walked in the direction of Emergency Pod C. There was silence for a moment, save for the din of the hospital. Then Mrs. Knüppeldick clutched at at Benjy’s arm, her voice dropping to what she thought passed for a whisper (it didn’t.) “That one is a Death Eater, you know.” Glancing back at Dolohov’s retreating figure, Benjy forced himself to swallow down what he wanted to say: I know, I know, I know. “Antonin Dolohov is one of the best Healers we have at St Mungo’s.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie — if he didn’t factor in the fact that Dolohov regularly broke his oath to kill Muggleborn patients, anyway. “Now,” Benjy continued smoothly, “I know you’re concerned, but no one will be exploding any time soon. But the bloating curse is...” My godfather is the Dark Lord Voldemort. Hours later, Natalya’s words were still ringing in Benjy’s ears. He’d left their captive in the more than capable hands of Emmeline and Zee, downed two stimulant potions, and swapped out his “stealth kidnapping outfit” for his Healer robes. He had a long day ahead of him: a twelve hour shift, followed by Thor surveillance. And, most likely, doing his best to steer clear of Antonin Dolohov. Natalya’s disappearance should go unmissed, but the Dolohovs were always so hard to predict. Which is why the sudden hand dragging him back by the collar of his robes as if he were an unruly schoolboy came as a complete surprise. Benjy whipped his wand out of his pocket as he was yanked into a dark, cramped broom closet. The door slammed shut, and he wheeled around to face— “I mean, I’ve always kind of thought you wanted to get me alone, Dolly, but I do have a girlfriend,” he told the Head Healer in a dry voice, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. There wasn't an ounce of patience in Antonin's expression for what he believed Benjy thought passed for a sense of humour. He glared down at the younger healer, one hand on his shoulder, using every bit of those three extra inches of height he had over Benjy to loom as threateningly as possible. "And where is your girlfriend right now, Fenwick? Where is Emmeline, and the rest of your vigilante friends?" he demanded, all of the unspoken pretense of each others' extra-curricular activities gone. Antonin didn't have time for subtlety, not when his daughter could be in danger. "Where is my daughter." A command more than a question, because Antonin was certain that Benjy knew the answer. “Why would I know where your daughter is?” Benjy asked, tilting his head as he stared up at Antonin. His expression twisted into one of confusion as he shrugged Antonin’s hand off his shoulder, and he pointedly ignored the older man’s references to Emmeline and the rest of his vigilante friends as he continued, “We’re not exactly close friends, Nat and I.” "Don't play dumb with me, Ben," Antonin snapped, it taking every ounce of self control for him to relax his hand, which had curled into a fist. He didn't need to resort to that. He had other ways. "If you've hurt her... if any of you have hurt her, I swear to Merlin it will be the absolute last thing that any of you do." The 'you" implied much more than merely the vigilantes in question. "The DMLE has become quite interested as of late in tracking down the vigilantes. If they're ready to toss the book at Prewett for being caught bringing a civilian into the hospital, imagine what will happen when they get their hands on one responsible for a kidnapping." Benjy’s kneejerk response was a languid roll of his shoulders. “I mean, I can imagine, but I still don’t really know what you’re talking about,” he replied calmly, tipping his chin up as if to say challenge accepted. “If you think Nat’s been kidnapped, maybe you should talk to the DMLE.” Shifting his weight idly onto one foot, Benjy let out a humourless laugh as he reached for the door handle. “At least you’ve not got to worry about her being taken by Death Eaters, like poor Mari MacDonald.” Antonin’s own hand went to the door handle to ensure it remained closed. “I’ve already spoken to the DMLE. Now I’m speaking to you.” A pause. “If you or any of your Phoenixes have touched a hair on her head, I promise you that Mari MacDonald will have gotten off easy in comparison to wha-“ Antonin was cut off by the ring of his phone in his pocket, playing the 2DOLZ remix of the Matlock theme, the ringtone that the twins had specifically set on his phone to play when Natalya called or hexted. Without breaking eye contact with Benjy, Antonin reached to pull his phone from his robes, and only spared a moment to glance down at the screen. He held in the sigh of relief building in his lungs, and looked back at Benjy. “I have to get to a meeting. Wait a few minutes before you leave. I’m sure you wouldn’t want people to talk,” he said, before grabbing a roll of bandages off the shelf and slipping out of the closet, closing the door behind him. Suddenly alone in the dark, Benjy didn’t move. He was going to count to thirty, then he would hext Emme and ward the Order to let them know what had happened. At twenty, a delayed wave of fear broke over him, bottled up anxiety and panic bubbling up to the surface of his thoughts as the gravity of what had transpired sunk in. He teetered on his feet as his chest tightened, grabbing hold of a broom to steady himself, his breaths becoming shallower by the second. And then the moment passed. He wouldn’t hext Emme. He wouldn’t ward the Order. Not when his cover was already so tenuous, not when it was his job to keep an eye on Dolohov. Not when there was a chance they might tell him to leave for his own good. Not yet. Three minutes later, Benjy stepped out of the closet with his hands shoved in his pockets, humming the Matlock theme as he strode down the hallway. Antonin Dolohov’s position afforded him one of the better offices at St. Mungo’s. It was spacious, open, and the window was a rare privilege. But as Benjy’s gaze swept over the room, it felt cramped, almost claustrophobic. The light pouring in from the window was grey and uninviting: the sky had opened up that morning, and rain had pounded London off-and-on for the better part of the afternoon. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped, and both were set to play an powerful encore into the evening. He chalked up his nerves to the weather. With Lily standing guard outside the door, there was nothing to worry about. But he needed to be quick about this — Antonin’s meeting with the Board of Directors would only last so long. Rifling through the files on his desk, Benjy scanned the papers for anything that seemed, well, nefarious. No dice. He sifted through the first desk drawer, then the next, rolling his eyes at the collection of Dolohov memorabilia before he remembered Antonin’s bizarrely specific hiding spot from the last time he’d visited the man’s office. Benjy drew in a shaky breath as he reached for the stapler resting on the desk, pulling back the top to reveal a small, neatly folded piece of paper. A list of initials, he soon discovered. Dark eyes scanned the page, one hand rising to scrub at the underside of his chin as his brow furrowed in thought. He reread it. This time, his gaze snagged on two familiar sets of initials: LP & NW. Hastily pulling out his phone, Benjy snapped a photo of the list before he carefully refolded the list, his heart hammering in his chest as he slid it back into stapler. He needed to tell the others. He needed to get out of Dolohov’s office. He needed to not almost knock over the Newton’s Cradle perched on the desk, and he swore violently under his breath as the metal balls began to clack back and forth. The tick-tick-tick followed Benjy out of the office. Being head of the Spell Damage department involved a lot more than assigning his staff to patients and pulling the Lestranges back from the brink of death every time they forgot that they were human during a fight. It also involved a lot of paperwork, and Antonin was currently drowning in it. He had a mini assembly line of papers set up on his desk magically collating and assembling itself while he tried to work out the next quarter’s budget in his ledger. The sound of his stapler trying to crunch down on a packet and coming up with nothing caught his attention. He opened up the top of the stapler and readied the new strip, removing the notes he kept stored in there. Antonin paused, though, something different about his configuration catching his eye. The post-it with the initials of his suspected muggleborn Mungo’s Order members was folded back into the metal casing of the stapler upside-down from the way he usually left it. Antonin leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap for a moment, contemplating the situation. Was this something he may have done the last time he referenced the list? A mixture of pride, stubbornness, and anal retentiveness answered the few seconds of doubt that had crossed his mind: someone had been in his office. Someone had found his hiding spot. Antonin wasn't concerned; it was a list of initials on a piece of paper. For all anyone knew, he could have been trying to unscramble the answers to a crossword puzzle. That didn't mean that they were going to get away with it, of course. As soon as Antonin figured out who had been digging through his things. Antonin walked passed Benjy in the hall, not looking up from the binder full of papers and notes he was flipping through. Unfortunately for Benjy, though, this didn't mean that he'd managed to go unspotted. "Mr. Fenwick, a word?" Antonin asked, stopping and turning back towards Benjy, waiting for him to follow along. “I was actually just heading out,” Benjy replied calmly, jerking his head in the direction of the exit. He ignored the klaxons going off in his head and gave Antonin an apologetic smile as he took a few steps back in the opposite direction. “Is it an emergency? Or can it wait until tomorrow?” "Do you remember the story of Mr. Katchatori, Benjamin? How he kept putting off getting that infection looked at "until tomorrow," until it was too late and his skin had permanently transformed into tree bark?" Antonin asked, it seeming simpler to speak in riddles and medical mysteries than it was to give a straight answer. "Don't be Mr. Katchatori. This will only take a moment." A brief flicker of unease passed over Benjy’s face before he schooled his features, his expression impassive as he met the Death Eater’s eyes. He was quiet for a long moment, weighing his options as Healers and Mediwizards and visitors bustled past him. “It’s Benjamín, actually,” he replied, almost conversationally. “And I’ve a prior engagement I’ve got to get to.” Benjy held Antonin’s gaze for a moment longer — and another — then turned on his heel, not daring to look over his shoulder, never hesitating, and certainly not bothering to say a word in farewell. Not when Antonin Dolohov intended to kill him. |