Who: Alasdair Buchanan & Maggie MacDougal. What: Is Alasdair back in the fighting chasing spirit? Let's find out! Bingo: Portree (Alasdair), Write with a Chaser (Maggie), Resolutions (Both). When: December 18, after this exchange. (Let's just pretend that Kas replied...) Where: Portree club. Warnings: G! Nary an F-bomb to be found! It's a Mid-December Miracle!
Alasdair was hale and hearty that morning, having risen and showered early, right after doing the light exercises and stretching that he’d been told to do by the Mungo’s healers after the pain in his leg subsided. It had become part of a regular routine, keen as he was to be back, in addition to his exasperation that people kept asking after him as though he was an invalid.
It was with that thought in mind that he’d practically snatched Maggie’s hand off in relief when she’d arranged this appointment with him, and he’d apparated to Rannoch Moor in a timely manner to arrive promptly for the meeting. The last thing he wanted was to piss off the mediwitch, nor to appear irresponsible - something he certainly wasn’t.
Greeting one or two of the staff on the way in, he approached Maggie’s office and lightly rapped the door with his knuckles, stepping back to await admittance.
The door opened (thank you, magic!) to reveal the room in the slightest amount of disarray, with two binders on her desk and two more hovering just above it. A quill was self-writing on one and Maggie, dressed appropriately for the time of year beneath her robes, was busy at work on the other one until Alasdair entered. "Buchanan, it's nice to see you. And walking." She greeted as she waved him in and set down the quill.
“Turns out, it’s so easy they even let babies do it,” he quipped good-naturedly, entering properly before the door closed behind him. Looking around to see the organised (he presumed) chaos, he was a little doubtful before sitting down opposite Maggie’s desk. “Um, do you need a hand around here, or..?” he asked the frazzled looking medic, watching the other quill carrying on going.
Maggie smirked and wagged a finger at him. "Only after months of rolling around on the ground and drooling. And no, no, thank you, it's..." she paused to consider the possible chaos, before she waved her wand and the binders closed and stacked neatly at the edge of her desk, "a sight more organized than it looks."
“Well, I’ve paid my dues on that one if past memories are anything to go by,” he retorted, still jovial even as he took in the sight of the apparently organised chaos. Instead of saying anything further on that matter, he sat back properly in the chair at last, waiting for their discussion to properly begin. “So, speaking of walking, and legs...”
"Aye, and legs." Maggie's face settled into a more neutral expression as she pulled a different notebook over from the other side of her desk, flipping it open to the section labeled BUCHANAN, ALASDAIR DECLAN. "How's yours been feeling? Both when you rest and when you walk– and when you run, though I hope you haven't done that too vigourously...?"
Best to start from the beginning, Alasdair thought, crossing his legs in front of him. “Well, in terms of the point of impact of the bludger, I don’t feel it anymore. The skin and muscle below the surface seem alright, so the various potions and pastes have been doing their job.” He paused momentarily, counting each of the rest of her points off on his fingers.
“Resting, pretty much the same. If I sit too long then there’s a little stiffness once I start to move, but it goes pretty quickly. I’ve been doing the stretches and gentle exercise to make sure it doesn’t happen, and it’s less and less. Walking is the most comfortable, actually. No troubles there. And I’ve only been out to run a couple of times, on low impact surface, and to be honest it’s just stiffness towards the end of it all. Not actual pain or soreness.”
Unlike other players who rushed things, or took risks when it came to injuries, Alasdair was not one for making a dodgy play. He paid attention, listened, and did what he was told. Mostly because he was always keen to get back to playing as soon as possible.
Thank Merlin for players like Buchanan. She wrote as he spoke, eyes darting between the chaser and her book. Eventually she put her quill down, expression softening. "You're one of the good cookies, you know." She stood from the desk and motioned for him to follow her to the clinic that adjoined the office, "Let's see what you can do."
In the meantime, she remembered the art of small talk — not one she was particularly well versed in, but one she'd been told that she needed to work on... at least once. "How have you been staying occupied?"
Following Maggie out of her office, Alasdair was bright and breezy as he spoke to the medic. “Took it easy the first couple of days while the potions and stuff kicked in. Lots of TV on the sofa, with the cats. Incidentally, they’re kind of miffed I’m not so sedentary now.”
When they were outside, he gestured around to the brightness of the winter sky above them. “Went out for a lot of walks and stuff once I was up and about again. Kept it simple, lots to look at, lots of books once I got back home,” he shrugged.
"My condolences," She muttered, pushing through the door and holding it open for him. "Sure you didn't go mad? Cabin fever?"
“Thanks,” he murmured as he exited the door, heading out towards the clinic a couple of steps behind her, watching out for whatever instructions she was going to give him. “Eh, at first it was worst. You always want to do stuff when you can’t do it. Or shouldn’t.” He was only human, after all. “But the more leeway I got, the easier it was to stay still, really.”
The type of person for whom bedrest would be akin to a death sentence, Maggie looked... unconvinced, but at least she also looked appeased. She gestured for Alasdair to sit on the exam table. "I don't know how you did it. The last time I had a flu I still ran the half-marathon I was signed up for." She paused, "Well, I attempted it."
Carefully hopping up onto the table, Alasdair couldn’t help but snort by way of response. “No taking it as a sign of defeat, then?” he asked, sitting patiently and following Maggie’s instructions as she began to put him through his paces.
"Defeat, Buchanan, is in the mind." Maggie tapped her forehead for emphasis as she began to examine the leg, poking, prodding, and 'can-ya-move-it-this-way'-ing. "Unless you had my finish time, I suppose. It was 'Did Not Finish.'"
“If you had the flu, I’m not surprised,” he quipped, moving his leg as instructed - though a couple of times he needed to half stand off the table in order to do so, due to his height. “I’m going to go with the notion of flu telling you to slow down, not try and speed up,” he finished, continuing to go through the exercises.
She scoffed playfully. "If you get a flu, yes, please do slow down. But if I get one..." A shrug. "'Do as I say, not as I do.' That's how it goes, right?" (She knew so.)
Eventually, she straightened back up and crossed her arms. "The knee injury's still got a while to go, but you've been handling the hit to the thigh well."
Alasdair wrinkled his nose a little bit as she commented about his knee. “The knee’s a good four years gone now, it’s not been stopping me this season,” he replied, waggling the offending leg a little. “But I felt like the thigh was doing alright, given that it didn’t get the bone. Good to know it’s coming along OK.”
Maggie nodded, "Aye, you've been braw on all fronts. Keep it up and I'll be willing to let MacFusty throw you back on the pitch, come the new year."
“Ooh, great. Starting with a good score can be my New Year’s Resolution... or one of them, at least,” he grinned, thinking already of the one rather significant one he already had planned for starting the year 2000.
Maggie, ever the pragmatist, tacked on, "As long as you continue to improve, aye. It sounds like you've a whole list to work through."
Alasdair, never one to back down from giving a little bit of cheek when necessary, pulled a blatantly obvious fake innocent face. “Really? I was planning on going out on the pitch backwards,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair as he got his thoughts together. “And the leg’s feeling good. Better than last time by a country mile,” he told the medic, referring to the early season where Okeke had pulled a dirty stunt that broke several of his ribs. “And no, not a great big list. Just a couple of wee things, nothing Quidditch related.”
She stuck her tongue out at him for the sass. "Resolution one: don't piss off the medic. Resolution two: bribe the medic with firewhiskey, monthly. Those aren't strictly Quidditch resolutions. I'm close?" Then she nodded again to herself before she gave Alasdair a chance to answer, "Must be."
“You’re involved in Quidditch, those would be Quidditch things,” he retorted with a grin, “and I’m fairly sure bribery is some kind of breach of ethics, no?”
He was merely being facetious, knowing that Maggie had a reasonable sense of humour. Alasdair wasn’t sure he’d behave that way in front of those with a meaner streak.
"Only if I do what you wanted me to do because you bribed me," Maggie pointed out, leaning to another exam table to write some quick notes about Alasdair's condition. "And I've responded very well to orders." she smirked.
“Why would anyone bribe you if you would have done it anyway?” Alasdair enquired, slowly raising his eyebrows before turning his head to watch Maggie’s rapid note taking. “So, what’s the official report?” he asked, changing the subject and nodding his head towards her notebook.
She placed the quill back down with a satisfied smile. "Officially? Keep doing what you're doing, keep following the healers' directions, and you'll be ready for the next match. I'd like to see you again after the hols, just to ensure nothing's gone awry." A little paper-shuffling, a little review of the page. "Unofficially, I'd like to see you play the next match so I can feel better about my own resolution: not to let any of you players kick the bucket while I'm not looking."
Alasdair snorted as he straightened up, listening to Maggie’s summary. At least it was good news.
“No dying on the job. Got it,” he chuckled, holding out his hand. “Thanks.”
Maggie nodded and took his hand. "My pleasure. Well, my job. Have a good holiday, Buchanan."