RP Log: Gideon and Miriam Who: Gideon Prewett and Miriam Strout What: Gideon is injured in the attack on Ottery St. Catchpole, and takes Miriam up on her offer to help out if he needs it. When: Around 1:30 a.m., Sunday night/Monday morning Where: Miriam's flat Rating: E for Emo.
In the grand scheme of things, the loss of her internal clock's rhythm was one of the weekend's lesser casualties. It had been sacrificed for a good cause after all, given that Miriam -- though she was not a native to the CII ward at St Mungo's -- had been called in to the hospital following the Tinworth attacks, and had stayed there, past the time the sun had dawned, in order to care for the influx of patients the place was now seeing every month. She'd even stayed late into the day, at the beck and call of other Healers who knew what they were doing more than she did, until suddenly the sun was about to set on Sunday evening too.
And she'd been sent home. There was some solace in knowing that she likely wouldn't be called in again, even if there was another attack (and she prayed, as she went through the motions of shower, of putting on her pyjamas, of making tea, that there wouldn't be) and decided it would be best to get to sleep early. There was still a shift in the morning she had to make, and no doubt Mungo's would still be bedlam.
Miriam had fallen asleep with the radio on. There was the tinny sound of music playing, something her grandparents' might listen to. The girl, half snoring on the edge of her bed (the second hand one that Nora had recently given to her) wasn't in a position to notice.
The outside world was silent, but Gideon Prewett still felt as if the last fight was roaring in his ears. So much screaming, so many roars, and of course the pain and blood loss weren't really helping, either. His head throbbed, and so did the four deep claw marks that slashed down his shoulder and chest, and he couldn't remember ever being so completely exhausted. Fighting werewolves was not like fighting another wizard in a duel or even a full-on battle, and it took a lot more out of him - like a few chunks of skin, for instance.
He was pretty emotionally threadbare, as well. Benjy dead and Pepper in serious danger of joining him, all in one night - that was two close friends, one lost and one close to it, and in the midst of the stress that was already in place, it was a lot to deal with. That made the physical pain tougher to handle, which in turn made the mental misery more powerful, and it was all cycling together until Gideon wasn't sure he could take a whole lot more.
And yet, he still didn't go to St. Mungo's. It would have been simple enough to make the excuse that he was at his sister's house, and he'd gone to help with the trouble when it broke out...but all he could think was that he had to see Miriam. He wasn't even sure if he was going because he thought she'd make him feel better or if he just wanted to complete the torture, but either way he was going. Dirty, bloody, exhausted, and damn near broken, he held himself up with an arm braced over his head on the doorway and knocked at her door.
At first, she barely registered it. The sound was enough to rouse her from her sleep, but for a second or two it merely seemed like the carry over from some dream, something which was already disappearing, fading into nothingness behind her closed eyelids...
But an instant past that, and she realised what it was. A knock. At her door. At -- what time was it? Miriam rolled over quickly, enough to make her head spin, and reached for the clock at the side of her bed. One-thirty AM. She made a grab for her wand, thinking it felt far too light and far too brittle in her grasp, and slipped from the bed. The room felt freezing, or perhaps that was just a product of the chill rushing through her. If this was work they would have contacted her through her badge.
She swallowed. "Who is it?"
"Gideon," answered the tired voice on the other side. "World champion of broom-surfing."
This was definitely no night to be letting safety slide, after all. It was getting all too obvious that even the tiniest slips got people killed these days. Not to mention, he had no aspirations of bleeding to death on his ex-girlfriend's doorstep. Better to just get it all out of the way before she even had to bother with question-asking.
The sound of his voice was a concern on a number of levels. In retrospect Miriam would be glad that she hadn't let the shock of hearing it freeze her to the spot, but for the moment all she was aware of was quite automatically swishing her wand through the air to turn on a light, then rushing forward on bare feet to disarm the wards and open the door.
"What's wr--"
The blood. Merlin. Miriam was barely aware of her words being swallowed in a sharp gasp, just the burn in her throat that came after. She shook her head, moving forward to offer support, something for him to lean on.
"Werewolves in Ottery," he got out, and this was one time when he was willing to go ahead and lean on her. His legs were working all right, but there wasn't a lot of energy left for holding himself up. "Family's all right. I just...caught some claws down my shoulder, and..."
Well, that pretty much summed it up. There wasn't much else to say about it. Lucky thing, too, because it was hard to keep his thoughts in order when he was that hurt. Gideon let Miriam steer him where she would, and hoped (in some strange disconnect with sensible priorities) that he didn't track mud on her carpet.
In some ways she was glad for the weight of him -- it literally grounded her, woke her up fully, so that she was no longer operating on pure panic and surprise. Steeling herself beneath her arm, she looped her own around his back (careful to avoid the wounds), and guided him towards the unmade bed. There was no hesitation before she lowered him onto the mattress and the freshly washed sheets. Mud could be cleaned up. So could blood.
"You should be at the hospital..." Miriam said, barely aware she was doing so, as she attempted to ignore that the blood on her hands was his.
"Probably," he admitted, and his eyes closed as soon as he got onto the bed. Merlin's beard but he was exhausted. Between all the patrolling and his regular work days and getting by on just a few hours of sleep in the evening, Gideon had forgotten just how good it could feel to simply lie down. "But they'll be slammed, and there's other people a lot worse off than me, and I haven't seen you in months."
More honest than he should have been, most likely, but Gideon had never been much good at lying. If he was, he'd probably still have a girlfriend.
She had half a mind to outright ask him if he were mental, but quite frankly, given the shape he was in, Miriam reckoned she would permit Gideon to be as delirious as he wanted -- so long as he lived. Ensuring that meant action, not words, and so she silently set about doing what she had to. The damp scraps of fabric that made up his shirt were gingerly peeled away, the fabric ripped so that she might have a better view of what exactly he'd meant by claws...
Because of her work, and her exposure to wounds both magical and otherwise, Miriam's stomach didn't turn -- but her heart twisted. Her mouth buckled in a frown as she attempted to keep her jaw shut, guarding against letting him hear another gasp from her.
"Stay here," she instructed, even though she knew she didn't need to. She darted to the bathroom, collected a selection of vials from the cabinet, and hurried back as she squinted at their labels. One -- the only pain relief she kept on hand -- was twisted open and offered to him. "Here, for the pain, it's all I have..."
He downed it without a second thought. It wasn't enough, but it helped, and he could always catch up on the pain relief stuff when he got home. Molly kept plenty of that on hand. She just didn't have the skills to get the wounds that werewolf claws made under control.
"Thanks," Gideon replied, his voice still strained. He wasn't sure why; he was breathing fine, and tne potion helped. Apparently things were piling up on him a little more heavily than he had realized.
Saying you're welcome seemed a little out of place, given that Miriam could have kicked herself for not being better stocked to take care of him. She'd offered to, and yet here he was, wanting -- needing -- help, and she felt so poorly equipped to give it.
But at least she was no longer shaking. She took the empty bottle from him, absently set it on the nightstand, and collected her wand (and her wits) to set to work on the task of healing the cuts. Miriam took a deep breath, reeled momentarily against the smell of blood and dirt, and quietly spoke.
"... only clawed?" She was already casting the first spell, something to clot the blood, slow and stop the bleeding.
"No bites," he assured her. If it had come to that, he would have gone on to St. Mungo's. There would have been no other responsible choice, in that event.
He winced as the magic hit the wound. Messing about with the skin and muscle always stung a little. In comparison to what he'd gone through in the fight at Brookstanton, though, this was practically nothing. Cursed wounds hurt like hell, but at least his bones were all firmly inside his body.
Miriam nodded in quiet gratitude for at least that much. Brow still knit, she reached forward and bundled a fistful of sheets in her grasp, cleaned them with a quick spell, and wrapped them around her hand. Gently she dabbed at the blood cooling now on his skin, clearing away the worst of it so that she could actually see what she was doing.
And what she was doing was something that had become all too familiar in recent months. Normally when she'd been called in to help with werewolf victims she was just fetching items, or cleaning wounds, but occasionally she'd needed to be on hand to help close them too. That was what she set about doing now, the work delicate, her concentration complete.
After several minutes of work, she spoke again. "How bad is it out there?"
"Bad." Gideon was quiet as he responded, and tried to think of how much he could or should tell her. He didn't want her upset, but...well, how could she not be? Everybody was upset now, and no wonder. "Not as bad as their first run on Hogsmeade, but bad," he went on softly, his eyes staying closed as she worked. "All I can really say for it is that at least none of my friends died in this one. Benjy was killed last night, and last I heard it was still iffy on Pepper. Spent all day thinking about them, and then the werewolves show up practically on my sister's doorstep tonight. It has been," he concluded as tears began to well behind his eyelids, "a lousy fucking weekend."
If there was anything to make her spellwork falter, it was that sound in his voice. Despite months of hating him, of loving him, of hating that she loved him and feeling sick over her inability to change it, it was difficult to not want to forgive him of absolutely everything right then and there. It was difficult, full stop, to see him in pain.
Miriam drew a steady breath herself. There was a heat behind her eyes as well, a prickle that promised tears -- and blurry vision was not what she needed. "I'm so sorry," she offered quietly, even as she patched together one of the jagged clawmarks. It became something sore and ugly looking, still a wound, possibly a scar.
Scars were something Gideon was getting used to. The one on his thigh was a particularly nasty example, thanks to that whole femur-not-staying-in-quadricep business Bellatrix Lestrange had done to him. A few more were just a few more, now.
He took a slow breath in, getting himself under something a little more like control. That was hard for him - harder than for his brother or his sister. When things went this terribly wrong, all in a row, Gideon felt it deeply. Being with Miriam both made it better and made it worse all at once.
"Me too," he finally whispered, because that was really all he could get out.
It was in her to apologise again, this time for making him speak at all, but happily Miriam managed to contain the impulse. Instead she continued the healing, carefully brushing away a little more blood every so often, and allowed herself to focus on putting him back together before initiating any more talk. There'd be time for that, she thought, once he was whole again.
Which was something to look forward to as much as it was something to dread, mostly because she had no idea what she was going to say. As she tended to the cuts she attempted to put it out of mind, to think of the man in her bed as someone other than who he was, but failed rather miserably.
When she was through, the cuts were angry, reddish marks, livid against the pale of his chest, but -- so long as he kept resting -- closed. Miriam reached for another one of her bottles, setting her wand aside so that she might apply the potion inside to what was left of the cuts. It smelled of mint. "I don't have another shirt for you," she said, unable to think of anything else to break the long silence. "But I can bandage these, and... I can find one tomorrow. Are you thirsty?"
"Yeah." Gideon was somewhat surprised by the realization, but he was. He recalled that from last time he'd lost a bunch of blood, though - dehydration. Alice had explained. "Yeah, water'd be good. Thanks," he added, remembering his manners. Now it would just be a matter of keeping himself conscious long enough to actually drink the water. Good Merlin he was tired, but...well, he needed the water, and the odds were that he wasn't going to get to see Miriam again for another long while. He'd been missing her too long to not take advantage of what time he could get with her, even if he had to be half-dead to get it.
She hadn't waited until the polite response was given. As soon as he'd answered at all Miriam was pulling the bloody top sheet out from from beneath the blankets, wiping her hands clean of the balm she'd used on his chest, and taking the bundle of fabric with her as she went off to get a cup. It was dropped into the bathtub. Once the water was poured, she searched for what bandages and gauze she did keep on hand (which were of course much smaller than what he would require to brace himself), and took them back to the bed with her as well.
She sat on the edge of it. The cup of water was held out to him, her arm offered for support should he need it to sit up a little, or turn his head to be able to drink. "I can get more potions for the pain tomorrow," she frowned. "Or tonight. Sorry, I... I should have had more ready. Just in case."
Gideon went ahead and worked on sitting up, leaning into her. "It's okay," he answered as he did so. "Molly keeps plenty of that on hand. She just can't manage the heavy-duty healing. You did great."
He took the water and had a short sip, and then a longer one. One more, and then he rested the glass on his knee to take a break. He stayed in that half-upright position, though, mostly leaning against her, and noticed that she still smelled the same. The feeling of missing her was then so powerful that Gideon didn't know how he'd held up under it for so long. So much else to worry about, he supposed; it was the only explanation that made any sense for him.
As if sympathetic to the very feelings Gideon himself was going through, Miriam felt a rush of emotion herself as he leaned against her. There was no longer any healing to distract herself with, and the reality of the situation -- which had been put on hold in her alarm over his wounds -- suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. It had been so long since she'd spoken to him without a book acting as intermediary, and this was how they had to meet again? Him bleeding and torn up? Merlin, it might not have happened at all if he'd been killed.
"Oh, pissing fuck."
... words that were given in a hiss as she realised that, yes, she was about to begin full on crying. Miriam's face crumpled, her free hand lifting to cover her mouth as the tears began to fall.
It took Gideon a few seconds to register that first, she had just had some sort of epiphany that required a bit of cursing, and second, that she was crying. Internally, a few phrases that his sister would have smacked him backhanded for ran through, and he fought to sit up a little more, trying to get to where he could look at her or at least offer some kind of comfort.
"Miriam, please don't--" Oh Merlin, he knew better than to tell somebody not to cry. Gideon stopped himself right there and got himself upright, finally managing to put his good arm around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking as he came close to tears himself. It could only be some sort of miracle that they weren't falling. "I'm sorry, Miriam. Please--"
Damn it, he was about to do it again. He stopped once more, and tried to simply breathe instead. It was just bloody difficult at the moment.
Miriam was making her own efforts at controlling herself, even if she had, for several moments, given herself over to a spell of much needed sobbing. Her next inhale of air was heavy and wet, and followed by a lifting of her hand so that she could give her face a rough rub with the sleeve of her pyjamas. As soon as the motion was through she was taking advantage of the arm around her, and leaning in against him. Pressing her face against Gideon's neck didn't halt her tears completely, but it did stifle them a little (and reminded her that he was solid, and in one piece).
She required several even breaths before she felt she could speak again. There were so many things she wanted to say -- should say -- but at the same time, she couldn't think of any. "I'm glad you're here," she muttered finally. And not dead.
He couldn't really move his shoulder much, but a little turn toward her wasn't out of the question, nor was bending his elbow to let his other hand rest at her waist. His head was still mostly propped against hers, and for once he wasn't thinking even the tiniest lascivious thoughts while she was so close. Gideon was just glad for the comfort of her presence, the warmth and the confirmation that whatever he'd so thoroughly screwed up, she didn't completely hate him.
"Me too," he murmured back. "I...wasn't sure I'd get to see you again."
The words were absorbed quietly. Miriam couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, of irritation at herself, that she hadn't been the one to close the gap between them sooner. She supposed the onus had been on him there, given he'd been the one to push her away, but all the same -- it was very hard to begrudge him something now. After all, he'd shown up here tonight.
Another ragged breath drawn a minute later, and then Miriam was pulling herself straight again. She wiped at his neck to clear it of tears. She even went so far as to allow her mouth to twitch in a wan, sad smile. "Better late than never," she said. Her voice sounded thick. "You need to sleep."
"Stay?"
The request was made softly. He knew very well that she might refuse, and he wouldn't fault her if she did, but he hoped she wouldn't. It had been a long time, and he was too miserable and exhausted to be by himself. Gideon had never been much good at being solitary anyway, and under the circumstances it felt like pure hell.
"Just a little while, even," he went on, in case she was considering the idea. "I'll be out cold soon anyway. I just...I don't want to be alone."
It only took her a moment of contemplation to nod, first vaguely, then a little more as she chanced a proper look at Gideon's face. She felt something behind her ribs grow tight. Miriam lifted a hand to his cheek, brushed it with her thumb a moment, then dropped it away so she might reach for her wand instead. "Okay," she agreed, with what might have been a reassuring smile had it also not been so weak, or her face so ruddy with tears.
The lights were switched off with another spell. Miriam was pleased to find that she could still navigate the dark well enough to reach out and pull the blankets towards him, holding them at the ready until he became comfortable. She wanted to sleep too, but there'd be time for that yet -- for now she stayed seated on the bed beside him.
"If you need anything, nudge me. I'll be right here."
There was no guarantee that he would ever be here again, Gideon knew. Even if they were sitll together, there were no guarantees of that. Benjy was good solid proof of that. No day was guaranteed anymore, not to people like them.
So after he got as comfortable as was possible given the situation, Gideon shifted his hand over to wrap around hers. It wasn't all that he wanted, but it was all he could reasonably ask of her. He let his eyes close, and took some comfort from that little bit of the warmth of her skin and the steady thump of her pulse. This much, at least, he could have, and as lousy as he felt Gideon would take whatever scraps he could get.
"Thank you," he murmured tiredly, though he'd lost track of how many times he'd used variations of the phrase tonight. Still he felt he needed to tell her.
But he didn't. Not really. What had to be said was said with the hand that wrapped around hers, and what had to be given in reply was given in the way Miriam's hand responded, squeezing his fingers back tightly as he drifted to sleep.