Who: Florrie McGonagall & Maggie MacDougal. What: Maggie seeks some much-needed mentoring. When: Wednesday, March 21, during Rhonna's birthday party. Where: MacFusty dragon reserve. Warnings: Language. Drama.
Becoming a healer, moving to New York, dropping out — none of the big decisions in Maggie's life had been up for discussion. She'd always weighed her options and made the logical decision, quickly, quietly, and without involving others.
Her decision that afternoon had been quick, but, uh... not... the other stuff. And her stomach had bottomed out hours ago somewhere between 'intense relief' and 'ohmerlinthatwasthestupidestfuckingthingI'veeverdoneohfuckfuckfuck.' Running full tilt through Glasgow had been enough of a distraction for a couple of hours, and then being surrounded by bairns, but now that they were gone on the tour and it was quiet again, her legs aching from the run and headache beginning to form from the stress, she was back to wondering if she'd fucked everything up. Royally.
She was supposed to be laying out little meatball snitch things in a neat line, which was something she wasn't even capable of on a good day. She glanced up briefly from her squiggle of snitchballs to see Florrie, then away to see if they were within earshot of anyone else. (They weren't.) "Think ye'll stay on another season?" She asked in a low, extra casual tone.
"Planning on it, unless there's a disaster between now and mid-May and Merc decides he's done." Florrie's Scottish lilt had become more pronounced since she'd moved into the Cattery and started dealing with mostly Scottish people all the time. Angus Campbell alone had probably ramped it up at least ten percent. "Why, are you finding it too much at Portree?" Florrie wasn't as involved in the inner politics of Portree as she might be, but between living with Meaghan and now Scrimmy, being good friends and cousins with Lorna, and the rest of the family ties, it was hard not to know about the maelstrom even if you'd only been hit by it once.
Of course, right, Florrie was there for her brother; she had other reasons to stay. Maggie shifted the last meatball slightly more into place but somehow it managed to look even more off-keel than it had before. "No' too much, no." Liar. "But different. Nobody warned me 'bout mindin' their fuckin' egos like they're someone's sheltered bairns." She tried not to talk down about her club to other medics, but this was Florrie. And she was Done.
Florrie rolled her eyes a little. "Ach, quidditch players are all bairns, even Merc at times. Nary a one of them wants to pay attention to the healer." Which was a little unfair, so Florrie amended, "Well, too often they don't. Want to go out for drunken flying the day after they get out of Mungo's. And I know you've had a worse time of it than I have just from living with Meaghan and Joy, and now Scrimmy." Meaghan was a handful on her own, and then there was the story that Florrie had firmly put out of mind, and ... well, there was the reason Florrie herself was dodging Portree and had chosen not to go on the reserve trip in the first place. "I don't think it's for everyone, so no shame if you want something else from life. I know you've always had other plans. Other options."
Maggie considered this as she tucked a snitchball left, and then right, and then right, and then, deciding that it wasn't going to work at all, popped it in her mouth. "If Merc did away wi' Montrose, what would ye do? Go back to Mungo's?" She wasn't a fan of hypotheticals but her mood was unusual. Uncomfortable. She tucked the evidence rubbish from her snack away in her pocket.
"Can't say I've rightly thought much about it. Might see if Jason King would hire me on for the expansion to the Montrose clinic. More likely if he left now, it would be on bad terms, and I don't know what I'd do. Not back to Mungo's though. I'm too used to doing things my own way now, and it's either go back to a strict regimen or sit behind a desk. Neither appeals to me," Florrie explained. For her, this was all pie-in-the-sky talk, as she couldn't imagine the Macmillans throwing Merc out from where they stood in the season. The team was top of the league and undefeated. Even if they didn't take the playoffs, which they might not with all their injuries, Merc had run a brilliant regular season and Florrie expected they'd end it with a bang instead of a whimper.
That earned a puzzled look. "Expansion? King giving up chasing quaffles for healing hearts?"
"The Uplift Foundation is partnering with the Macmillans to expand the clinic and set up a mental trauma wing for those recovering from the war. If I'm to spend a lot of my time behind a desk, I'll do it for a good cause, and that one is it. And I've done some small work in that direction already," Florrie explained. She hadn't talked about the particulars of Angus' case with anyone other than Pye, of course, but at some point there would be an academic letter going round about it, and Florrie's name would be on that. She'd always thought she'd like to do research, but it turned out that she, personally, hadn't needed the status and training of a Healer to do the work.
Maggie hmmed and gave up the snitchball effort; they were never going to look perfect. Instead, she reached back and lifted herself onto the windowsill. "Hadn't given a thought to goin' back but not working at the hospital," she mused, picking at her sleeve as the snitch embroidered on it fluttered circles around her forearm. "I reckoned that if I was going to be treated like a fuckin' intern again I might as well be treated like a fuckin' intern at Mungo's."
Puzzled, Florrie really turned her attention to Maggie. "Who's treating you like an intern?" She started to ask if Portree was really that bad but it wasn't like she doubted Maggie's word on the matter. She hoped the answer wasn't Owen, because she'd hate to have to have a pointed discussion with Lorna's husband. While she was no longer technically responsible for placement of the quidditch medics, Florrie felt responsibility for the positions they'd ended up with (and in at least one case was probably going to help them get out of at the end of the season. Maybe two, from the sound of this discussion!).
Ah. Crap. Maggie knew that tone: the Someone's fucking with you? tone that she used more than her friends would like, and to varying success. "Not– no, it's..." She pulled the sleeves further over her hands; feeling vulnerable was rare for her and she didn't much care for it. "I was whingin' is all." She knew it was a weak defense. "It feels more like... bein' a prefect again than an intern, maybe. Havin' to protect half them from themselves while the other half wilnae tell you the crap you need to know to do your fuckin' job." And that was just the players.
"That, I think, is part of quidditch medicine." Florrie sighed. "It's been better for me with the older lot, for the most part, and some are good by their nature. Buchanan seems like a good sort that way, for one, and Lorna should be listening to you because she's got to set a good example. I know not all of yours are so sensible, though. Certainly not all of mine are."
"Buchanan, Parkinson, MacFarlane — they're all braw." And that was where the list ended of starters who'd earned a gold star from the medic, especially seeing as Pepper and Okeke were still too new to know for certain. "Sometimes I wonder what the fuck they think my job is." Apparently the absence of children had made her language tip back into its natural (foul) state. "Or what the fuck kind of high horse they live on. Fuck, players and staff both." She wasn't used to being this candid about her work strife, but her nerves were still raw from her encounter with Ellie earlier that afternoon.
The thought of Ellie and Maggie and their current state, after everything that had gone on, was enough that Florrie could feel an incipient headache. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I shouldna say a word given that I'm kin to half of them, but I can imagine."
Maggie chewed on her bottom lip as she gave the other mediwitch and her ache a considering look. She'd tried to keep the fight secret but it had only stayed that way for a few weeks until it came out for other reasons. It still made her uneasy, but a part of her—the same part that was determined to tell Florrie about the exams—wanted her sometimes-mentor to know that it wasn't because of her own faults that she was leaving Portree. She needed to parade through the streets with signs saying I DID MY FUCKING JOB and WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, PORTREE?. Because that was what professionals did.
She sucked her teeth before she replied, slowly, "Sometimes slaps are punches."
"Elsie told me about that, aye," Florrie said, "and seeing as she only opened her fist at the last minute wi' me, I believe it. It's no fault o' yours you've had to deal wi' this. I had no idea she was going to go this way or I'd never have placed you there. I'd never have placed anyone there if I'd known." She reached out toward Maggie to take Maggie's hand by way of reassurance, given and taken. Clearly she'd failed more than one of her placements.
"No shit, McSherlock." Maggie muttered sardonically, to confirm the last thing Florrie had said. "But they shouldn't lose out on a medic for it, they should boot the fuckin' coach." She looked down at their hands. She wasn't supposed to be comforted! She was supposed to be justifying. "Is there someone who takes formal complaints on this crap? Some kinda ombudsman that can get her suspended next season for the safety of the rest of the club? Leavin' her tae heal at work's the worst fuckin' plan."
Florrie shook her head. "I don't know what they're thinking. When they brought Roberts back, I thought she was done. As for what we do, we take it back to Mungo's and we tell them they shouldna place anyone there until the matter is firmly dealt with and either she's put on leave or dismissed for the safety of the medic. They canna control the rest of it but they can control that. And maybe you should also bring it to QUABBLE since we know she's struck at least one player. Even if they canna do anything, it's something Oglethorpe and his lot should know. I'd say ask Meaghan to speak wi' him but I know you're not on good terms right now--and not--" Florrie added, "that it's on you at all that you're not, even from what I've heard."
Maggie held up two fingers in response to 'at least one player' but hoped it was in a way that Florrie didn't dig. St Mungo's and QUABBLE — those seemed reasonable. "I've nae problem wi' goin' tae Oglethorpe on myself. An' Mungo's..." she tapped her fingers against the window sill as she worked through it all. It felt good to know that there were options, and that Florrie was using 'we.' She was confident that she could raise hell all on her own, but in the eyes of an awful lot of Mungo's she was still that junior mediwitch who overstepped the bounds of her post one too many times. Or who wanted to, at least. It would be good to have the indomitable Florrie McGonagall on her side.
"Aye, aye, I– we can." She was back to chewing on her lip, a nervous habit she'd never been able to rid herself of. "After June, though?"
If they'd been going to do this during the season, it should have been before the end, Florrie thought. But still, it would be useful for the players to consider who'd be coaching before they signed on, or not, for another season. "When it'll be less of a disruption for the players, or is there aught else?"
Maggie nodded. "Players. An' I'll be done wi' Portree." She straightened and gave Florrie the tiniest smile because she hadn't actually told anyone this of her own volition, and now she was, because she was Fucking Done With Portree and she was trying to feel Fucking Good About It, Alright?! (She'd told Pye, of course, but he saw her at the hospital so she'd had no choice.) "An' exams."
"Exams?" It took Florrie a moment to realise what Maggie meant and then her face lit up in a smile. "You're going back for your full Healer training? Oh Maggie, how wonderful for you!" She let loose Maggie's hand and stood up to give Maggie a full-on hug.
The younger mediwitchhealer-to-be hugged back. Actually saying the words finally made them feel real, and for the first time in years she was excited about becoming a healer, again. "I had a fuckton o' meetings last week. Some of the board wanted tae make me take the program anew, but enough arguments an' references an' overnight-fuckin'-transcripts from New York, an'..." Maggie beamed. "I've gotta sit the exams again, and do extra practicals that same week to prove I still know where the fuck I'm at, but then I'll be done. A proper healer." Her heels knocked against the wall like a kid excited for a quidditch match and she didn't care. She also didn't care that it was an abrupt change of topic and mood — she wanted to beam, and beam she would."For real this time."
"I'm so proud of you." Florrie pulled back and looked at her at arm's length. "Healer MacDougal. So you'll go straight to--what, residence practise? Do you have a field settled? Or are you going into physical trauma with Pye and letting your field work here count for the practise?"
"Trauma and Critical Care," Maggie confirmed with the grin she wouldn't be able to wipe from her face for the rest of the day. "Since it's what I wanted tae do before, or I reckon I still do, and I'll be braw if I can get in when they agree to set up the ward proper. Wilnae even start at the bottom rung thanks tae workin' as a medic for so long." Not that she'd thought about this at all, obviously.
"Brilliant! I know you'll do well on your exam. If you want I'll come by and help you study. And bring study snacks so you can eat properly." Florrie was suddenly looking mildly stern. "You are eating properly while you study, and taking good breaks?"
"Aye, I take breaks tae work." Because Maggie was exciting, and that's what exciting people did. Then she quirked an eyebrow at Florrie. "McGonagall. Have ye ever known me ta eat like crap?" She had gains to consider!
Florrie didn't quite suppress a laugh. "I think if you're not eating crap by the end of the Neep, you're quite possibly a saint. Certainly you've more self-restraint than i have. I nearly ate a tower of cheese bread during the Wigtown match. I did a lot of running and ate a lot of chicken breast and veggies for the next week."
"If my diet goes downhill I'm countin' on ye tae get me checked for Polyjuice," Maggie replied with mock offense.
"True enough, if you haven't slacked off yet, you might not." Florrie's grin was still huge.
"I wilnae," was the reply, "An' I'll owl ye fuckin' protein bars or some crap ta help ye dae the same."