InsaneJournal

Pepper was lying alone in his hospital room, listening (but not really paying attention) to the wireless, which was airing its on-the-hour afternoon news. Effie was at practice or otherwise, and as it was whenever he was left alone and his attention unoccupied, he started getting testy. He thought about his family and how his mother cried, and his sisters cried, and how his father had been on the verge several times, and truthfully they didn't even really grasp the consequences this attack would have for Pepper for the rest of his life. It wasn't as though he could just up and leave, being registered and regulated like fucking cattle, or as though he could just pick up and move on with his life again when it was all said and done. Once he was out of St Mungo's, he would be facing joblessness, uselessness and a life relegated to depending on others for his livelihood when he was a perfectly capable and intelligent young man, and a talented healer. He would be werewolf before everything else, and the more he was left to his own thoughts the angrier he became and the more he wished they hadn't taken away his wand else he would just unbind his legs and get the fuck out of there.

He'd half-forgotten about his arranged meeting with the P.A.W.s guy, the porn star, or whatever it was he really did.

And what it was that he really did (the 'he' in question being Mr Royden Poke -- Roy to his friends, Fatty to the goblins he worked with) was habitually show up late to whatever appointment he'd made for himself. It was the thinking behind the pair of watches he, running counter to a friend's advice, wore at simultaneously on one wrist. One operated ten minutes fast, the other fifteen (with a built in alarm!), and if he managed to forget for a moment that he was actively attempting to fool himself with this inelegant trick, then it meant he arrived where he needed to go on time.

... or at least, on time-ish. Royden had run into a spot of difficulty at the front desk of St Mungo's, when one perfectly well meaning Healer had mistaken him for a patient when she mistook the blob of jelly from his recent sandwich for a boil on his cheek. Her horror when he swept it off with a thumb and ate it was only paralleled by her relief that he was, in point of fact, terribly healthy, and moreover had already called ahead to clear himself for visiting Mr Pepper.

It was this fellow's room he was led to, a battered looking notebook beneath one arm, his long stride making short work of the hospital's halls. It took a great deal to make him nervous, but Royden confessed -- privately -- to a certain amount of anxious excitement in meeting his most recent appointment. It was rare that one of the people he was assigned to knew as much about werewolves as this one did.

He rapped on the half opened door when he reached it. "Ah... hullo! Octavius Pepper?"

Startled from his daydreaming, Pepper looked up and the door. He didn't recognize the person standing there, though he figured if it wasn't another healer trainee on rotation, it was the bloke from P.A.W.s. "Just Pepper is fine," he answered. He'd always thought his father mad for letting his mother name her children, Ondine, Octavius and Orianna</a>. It wasn't even as though they could be attributed to a magical heritage--no, they were muggles so far back as Pepper could trace; Ruth Pepper had just been mildly obsessed with Latin at the time she was bearing children. "Only my mum calls me Octavius. Can I help you?

"Royden Poke," Royden Poke said, bypassing the last question with a smile as he loped into the room. At least he didn't seem to be interrupting anything, which was a plus -- it was always awkward to discover one was waking a patient. "And just Roy's fine. Like you mentioned in the book the other day, best leave the family name out of it altogether."

The notebook beneath one arm was adjusted briefly, as if to ensure that it was secured before he leaned forward to offer his hand. Even as he extended it he gestured with his chin to the side, indicating a chair not too far from the beside. "May I?"

"Yeah, sure," Pepper agreed, taking Roy's hand and shaking it lightly. He still felt the twinge in his neck and stomach if he over-exerted himself physically (which included, apparently, handshakes). "So. How's this work, really? You just let me ask questions or talk and then try and help me through it?" There wasn't any malice in Pepper's tone; it was just an honest question. The truth was that he could probably use an ear outside of his friends and family, many of whom had no real idea what to say.

After a brief bout of fumbling, Royden managed to pull the chair closer to the bed with a minimum of effort. If he was fazed by the bluntness of the question he didn't let it show -- his manner remained rather relaxed and unguarded, mostly because it didn't really know how to be otherwise.

"It's up to you," he replied with equal candour. Royden's eyebrows lifted as he settled into his seat. "If you've got questions feel free to ask them, or if you think there's anything you might like me to know -- or anything you might like to know about me, for that matter -- go ahead. Mostly I think of a first meeting as... well, just getting to know each other, so there's no pressure to go braiding each other's hair quite yet."

To the hair-braiding comment Pepper laughed, a slight, genuine smile inching across his features. "Okay. Well. I don't have much in the way of questions about what being a werewolf entails. That's been my career, so. We're covered there." He paused, shifting against his pillow. "I've been a healer for so long, this feels more like an ironic prison than a hospital. They're keeping me here until after the full for observational purposes. And though I know that that's procedure and we've done that for every patient to come on this ward since I specialized, it still feels like a cruel and unusual punishment." He stopped again, looking away from Royden and then back again. He knew he needed to get some of this off of his chest, and while it had come spilling out like word vomit, already Pepper felt uncomfortable.

Abruptly, he changed the subject. "So. What do you do outside of... this?"

The concerns were absorbed quietly, Royden's expression sympathetic but not grim. He'd been expecting a unique perspective on becoming a werewolf, and it looked like that was what he was going to get -- by and by. Certainly now there was no reason to pressure Pepper into speaking anymore than he wanted, and he knew that prying wouldn't really help either of them.

So instead he smiled at the last question, straightening somewhat in his chair as he shrugged. "Professionally? I work at the Ministry actually. Liason to the Goblin community. Bit unpredictable day-to-day, but before that there was a brief turn in the Spirit Division, which I can hardly say I miss."

"Goblins, eh. Sounds like a riot," Pepper replied idly. "How did you end up working for P.A.Ws, then?"

"Oh, I've been with them for... " This required a thoughtful glance upwards, as if he'd momentarily forgotten his own age (he had). "Five -- six years just about? I'd already been working in the Beings Division for a couple years by then, but I wanted to work with werewolves and their families on a more personal level."

However, he doubted that explained his initial interest in the subject at all, and, as he had done a number of times before, Royden continued. It was a sad subject, but it was, by now, something he was used to sharing. "My aunt was killed in an attack when I was a boy. The man turned himself in before the next full moon, but I remember how difficult it was. For everyone involved."

"I'm sorry," Pepper replied honestly. He'd seen all those families come through, knew the anguish that came with attacks by werewolves. "Mine was. Stupidity, really. Thinking it would never happen to me. Effie and I eloped early in January and wanted to have a dinner with our friends... and both of our schedules were ridiculous at the time, so the 30th was the only real day. We'd planned on leaving earlier but everyone was having a good time, so we lost track, and the restaurant was having issues with their floo so we had to go outside. We should've just insisted on staying there."

All things Royden had a rough idea of just from the reports he'd both heard and read of the night, but it was a much different thing, of course, to hear it from the man himself. With a nod or two he listened quietly. Royden could appreciate the feeling of invulnerability too, given that he knew he felt it more than was probably wise himself.

"I'm surprised I didn't run into her," he began after a moment or two, hazarding a slight smile before glancing at the door as if Effie might cross the threshold that moment. "Your wife, that is. The Healers mentioned how often she's here."

"She does her training and I shoo her out to take breaks sometimes. I can't stand being her on an endless loop, so I can't imagine it's particularly stimulating for her, either," Pepper replied. After a beat he said, "You know, I feel sort of selfish in all this, because so much as I don't want to have brought this on her, I don't want to lose her either."

"Have you spoken to her about what's happened -- or what will happen?" Because uncomfortable truth or not, there were certain things about Octavius' condition that were now an unfortunate eventuality -- things that were difficult to swallow for anyone, let alone a newlywed bride.

Royden's forehead knit. "It's not selfish, either. Your life -- your life together -- has changed, yeah... but it's not over. You didn't bring this on yourself, and you didn't bring this on Effie. What you are responsible for is what happens from here on out."

Pepper nodded to the first question. "We talked about it, somewhat. I mean. We'll talk about it more when she's ready to, but I can't force her to... keep talking or to talk about anything she's not ready for, but. I don't know. All in all I feel fairly useless on any number of counts, husband-performance included."

"Being stuck in here can't help, yeah," he replied with a slight, sympathetic tug at the corner of his mouth. Hospitals, being not especially comfortable to stay in, were even less enticing places to visit. Certainly put a pall over the upcoming Valentine's Day.

"But," Royden offered, eyebrows now perking, "You can use the time to brainstorm all the ways you'll be making this brief lapse up to her, right? And you know, P.A.W.S. offers support for families and loved ones too, if you think she might be interested in that. I could speak to her, or the two of you together, or I could put a word in for someone else to maybe see her. No pressure, just the option. Do you think that might help?"

Pepper ran a hand through his hair and then shrugged. "I don't know. I'll ask her. She seemed really interested in my interested in my own involvement, so. It might be good for her, I don't know. And I guess I'll have plenty of time to learn to cook and become a master vacuumer," he said, tone somewhat resentful. Truth be told, Pepper would've been perfectly happy living off of take-away for the rest of his life, and hiring a cleaning lady if and when he made enough galleons to do so. He had hoped to making researching werewolves his life's work; to put forth all of the ground-work for a cure, and be renown in history as one of the most dedicated and accomplished healers in his field. Now? Now he wasn't even a healer anymore. Now anything he did was made redundant because he was a werewolf.

It was a tone that Royden detected, and answered with a slight tilt of his head and an almost apologetic sidelong tug of his mouth. "Well, before you get too excited over becoming a House Elf, we can focus on surviving the boredom of this place first. You've got the journal obviously, but if there's anything else I could bring you, let me know. Books, parchment, anything you might need for your work..."

Because even though Pepper was feeling (quite understandably) defeated, there was little chance of Royden joining him in that sentiment. Title of healer or no, that was still what the man was, and it would be criminal for this to bar him from further research. "And for your wife too, we've no small amount of reading material she might find helpful. If she doesn't want to talk, it might be perfect just to pick up something to look over on her own time. It can be... overwhelming, otherwise."

"Thanks," Pepper replied honestly, surprised by how accommodating Royden was being, especially given they had only just met. Still, Pepper figured that, being the man was volunteering to counsel werewolves, his wanting to help should've been rather expected. "I've been getting the medi-witches to give me parchment, and the dictaquill manages pretty well. Effie owls everything off to the laboratories. So far it's a good system. But information you have might not go awry. I mean, she's heard it all from my mouth but who knows. It might seem different, or better, from something directed at... at families in our situation."

The notebook, so long forgotten, was opened and subsequently scribbled in with a short pencil pulled from Royden's shirt pocket. He glanced up at Octavius even as he wrote, apparently well used to writing without necessarily looking at the page. "Alright, I'll make a note here to see what we've got on the shelf -- some of the books can be difficult to find in print, but our library's not bad."

Another moment or two, to finish up his note to himself, and then his attention was back on the new werewolf. "What about just... something that won't make you go barmy? Music, maybe?"

Pepper looked thoughtful for a moment. "I have the wireless and honestly, I just stick the Tube on when I'm sick of the rest of it. The news is always grim, sensationalist and unchanging, unless it's telling the world that someone else is dead." He paused, shifting in the bed. "Cigarettes. And coffee. They keep hounding Effie about not letting me have either and the last time she managed to smuggle a pack of fags in here the healer-on-duty "confiscated" them--more than likely the rat bastard smoked them himself--and, honestly, going through withdraw on top of this is a shit state, even if I am still on some pain potions."

That provoked no small bit of laughter, and with the lingering grin still on his face, Royden perked his eyebrows and gave a minor shrug. "Well, I'll see what I can do on that front -- don't want to risk being permanently booted out of here. Coffee's certainly doable, though. Could bring a thermos for myself and give a shot at passing it along." Which, he thought to himself, might actually be simpler, given that he had never bought a pack of fags in his life and had little to no idea where to begin on that front.

"In the meanwhile, try to keep your head about you. And we can schedule a weekly meetup and that, but know that I'm only a scribble in the book away. I'm mostly available in the evenings, but... trust me, I can make time."

"Thanks," Pepper replied, grinning himself at Royden's laughter and his willingness to sneak Pepper caffeine. "Honestly I think that the worst of it right now is going to be getting through these last few weeks at the hospital, because it's hard to get used to massive changes in your life when you're stuck in a place you're not going to be able to be a part of anymore. Everything else will just... be something to adjust to. And thanks for coming in here. It's a good break in the monotony."

"And probably much easier on your vocal chords, having a break from shouting at the Healers and all...." He grinned, just enough to communicate the required bit of humour. Otherwise Royden's expression still stayed warm and, as ever, open, and within a handful of moments he'd gone back to just a close lipped smile. It was good to see that Pepper had a sense of humour about himself as well, even though he had all the reason in the world not to. Being capable of laughter, of even just idle joking, went a long, long way.

"But! I'm glad to do it. And will happily swing by now again before the time you're out completely. I've heard the last week can feel like an eternity.... which, I suppose, isn't really helpful to hear." An apologetic smile (and wrinkle of his nose later), and he added, "The books too, I'll find the books for Effie. Just give a shout as to what time's best for you, and I'll do my damnedest."

"Will do. And you know, when I'm out of here and immersed in my domestic future, I'll bake you something for a thank you," Pepper joked. Who knew, he might become the next bloody Better Crocker with all the time he was likely to have on his hands, though some voice in the back of his head took the time to remind him that, chances were, he'd light the kitchen on fire 257 times before he actually put together something edible. "You might even be able to eat whatever it ends up being."

"Not to worry -- I've been building up a tolerance for awhile now. Been eating my own cooking for years, insides are complete lead."

Which was delivered as a joke, and expressed as a joke on his face, but really, truly, was not a joke. He was an abyssmal cook, which at least made him a more than willing guinea pig in any culinary experiments anyone else saw fit to test out on him. Somehow, though, he hoped Pepper didn't switch professions from healer to homemaker on a lark. Ideally he once he got over this first roadblock (which was, of course, just learning to live with his condition) he would go back to doing the work that really meant something to him. Meant something to a whole hell of a lot of people really.

But, Royden supposed, Rome wasn't built in a day.