August 23rd — Potion & Plant Poisoning Ward, Hogsmeade Hospital

In the days following the fog's dissipation from Hogsmeade and Irvingly, Alfred and his crew had found themselves in the sort of grey area where there was no longer any reason that they couldn't begin trying to fundraise for their next excursion (the trip to excavate and explore the island they'd found at the tail end of their last journey), but none of the people who had money were really in the right mood to part with it. The Ministry had other things on their minds in the aftermath of the fog, and the idle rich of Hogsmeade and elsewhere had already filled their social calendars with two months of pent-up activities, which left Alfred rather shiftless. Volunteering his ship to be the one to transport the mysterious cursed gemstone back down to Egypt had been exactly the thing to keep his crew from defecting off to other little projects — which they inevitably would, if he didn't come up with some new source of income for them.

The voyage there had been largely uneventful, as had been the lengthy port call at Port Said near the mouth of the Suez Canal while they waited for word that the gemstone had been safely stashed away wherever it was it was supposed to go. It wasn't until halfway through the journey back that things had gotten problematic — and even then, it was rather a minor drama, in Alfred's opinion. One of the crew members had started vomiting some interesting colors, probably due to one of the exotic (and possibly illegal) souvenirs he'd been smuggling back among his effects.

Unfortunately, the British government was understandably rather touchy about mysterious magical maladies hailing from Egypt, and rather than just allow the man to be treated and go on his way, he was now undergoing a quarantine of sorts at the hospital. It was kind, at least, that they had allowed him to be transferred in to the Hogsmeade Hospital, closer to his family, instead of having him boarded up at St. Mungo's, but Alfred was still (privately) of the opinion that everyone was massively overreacting.

He had no reason to suspect the man's condition was any worse than it had been when he'd initially gotten back to England, but thought it would be the kind thing to do to check in on him all the same, since he was a member of Alfred's crew. He'd gotten the man's room number from the clerk at St. Mungo's before flooing over, but when he arrived at the room in question, he found it deserted.

"Excuse me," he called to the nearest healer he could see — a man who looked vaguely familiar but whose name Alfred was certain he wouldn't be able to come up with. Prior to his 'walkabout' in South America he had known so many people in passing, either from Hogwarts or from professional acquaintance, that he had never reconnected with after his return, and unless they'd had any particular importance he was unlikely to make any connections with people he'd once known. "I'm looking for Mr. Parker. I don't suppose you know whether he's been moved somewhere?"

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

It had been weeks since the fog had dissolved and magic had been restored, but the gratefulness to be feeling half-useful again at his job had not yet worn off. If he was not at work quite as often as he had been last month, Ari still felt as though he was getting twice as much done in distinctly less time. He was feeling fairly upbeat about this, too: after what had been a stressful few months for more reasons than one, he felt, in a rare mood, ready to take on most anything.

(A notion thought a little too soon, perhaps.)

He was in the midst of doing rounds of the ward when a man addressed him - Ari was the only member of staff in sight, he supposed - with a question. Questions about rooms were best posed to the welcome witch at the front desk, ordinarily, and Ari might well have directed the man on if he preferred not to see the visitor hopelessly lost and roaming the hallways as soon as possible, and also if he didn't happen to already know the answer to that. "Mr. Parker, of the ship from Egypt?" He answered, glancing at the room number the man was standing by. "Yes, he was moved this morning, I'll show you there," he explained briskly, since it was on his way. "You're visiting, I take it, Mr. -?" He had trailed off out of pure politeness, but Ari glanced sideways at the stranger suddenly - and found a face he didn't know but that was startlingly familiar from his pictures in the Prophet, and a horrible, sinking certainty of the name he was about to hear.

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"Captain," Alfred corrected casually. It wasn't that he minded being called Mister (it was honestly a bit refreshing, after that sensationalist novel that had been published under his name, to realize that his reputation did not preceded him everywhere), but rather that he was only just getting to the point where he was comfortable with the title. Six months ago, he would have been embarrassed even to introduce himself as Captain, but in that span he'd had two successful underways, one of which may or may not have lead to the discovery of the lost isle of Avalon, so he felt by now that he had done at least a bit to earn the position. "Darrow. Mr. Parker is one of my sailors," he explained.

For a moment he wondered if he'd misstepped by saying as much. Would they allow him in to see a man he had no particular connection with outside a professional one? Alfred had no notion of how strict the hospital's rules were regarding such things. He determined not to ask, and continue on until someone specifically told him he had to stop. A second thought occurred to him, however, as he moved to follow the healer, and he asked with mild concern, "He hasn't been moved to somewhere with intensive care, has he? I mean, nothing's the matter?"

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Politeness did not come so easily after Darrow corrected him. Captain, as though it made any difference when they were in the hospital, as though strangers were supposed to be at his beck and call manning decks in the middle of a hospital. He supposed Darrow thought it made him more impressive. (Ari presumed darkly that Zelda had been much too impressed.)

Ari was not much listening to anything the sailor said afterwards - nor was he really looking, either, though his gaze was trained that way, a mask of attentiveness. Instead, he was preoccupied in deliberating what to do.

He had been going to do nothing, at first, after the situation seemed to resolve itself without further intervention. ("Resolve itself", as though his sister getting attacked by a troll was the best possible outcome, Ari considered, in continued, furious, disbelief.) But then he had heard - Zelda had seen the man again, transparently enough that word had spread to Hogsmeade and after she had promised not to. Well, she had not precisely promised not to talk to him again, but - he gritted his teeth - that had obviously been implied.

So Ari had been teetering on the edge of hunting Darrow down for himself to put a stop to this already, and - whether or not he had been going to restrain himself from such a course - when the man in question wandered into his workplace, well. It would be irresponsible to do nothing now. Shirking his duty.

"No, he's been much improved," Ari explained absently, over his shoulder, as he led Captain Darrow down the hall. Mr. Parker was currently about the furthest thing from his mind, but it hadn't been a lie, at least; with magic in their arsenal once more, they could all be much more confident of his recovery.

Since Mr. Parker was, however, still under quarantine, their policy was not usually to let all manner of visitors in and out of his room, but Ari pointed out a door on the right and ushered Darrow in before him. "Just here," he declared calmly. It did not, in fact, contain Parker's bed at all, but a small workroom space, with cauldrons for antidote-brewing and some ingredient shelves and cases on the opposite wall. Ari held back in the doorway until Darrow was inside, and then stepped in after him, pulling the door up behind them both and then taking out his wand to jam it locked, magically. The last thing this situation needed was one of his interns trotting in in the middle of this.

Ari was not entirely sure, himself, how this was going to go, but he deliberately did not return his wand to his pocket when he turned to face the man again, between him and the door. "Well, it's good of you to visit, Captain Darrow," he said, his tone more clipped and cool than it usually would be, not that Darrow would know - but calm, still calm. He cleared his throat, and then added, just in case Darrow had not gathered what was going on (perhaps this happened to him often, as an adventurer), "Ari Fisk, by the way."

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   Cassius Lestrange, Elsie Kirke, Ophelia Devine

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Alfred was entirely oblivious to the other man's inner monologue — why would he have bothered to pay close attention to the facial expression of a random healer he had no particular connection to, after all? — and took the turn into the indicated room without suspicion. By the time that he'd registered that it couldn't possibly be the right place, the door had already shut and locked behind them. His guide had followed him in, and had drawn his wand — a gesture which could not be anything other than threatening, given the circumstances — but it wasn't until he introduced himself that Alfred had even the faintest idea of what he had inadvertently walked in to.

Oh. Even if he hadn't recognized the name from what Zelda had told him during their last conversation, the situation that he'd found himself in would have been enough of an indicator that this was the brother she'd told. That being said, though, he still didn't know exactly what she'd told him, which put him at a significant disadvantage in this confrontation. He didn't want to go getting Zelda — or himself — into any more trouble by starting to apologize for something that Ari Fisk didn't know about yet, and if he wasn't going to apologize, there wasn't really anything to say. Not that he had any good apologies to offer, anyway — I'm sorry, I was drunk and she started it was hardly going to win him any points.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, obviously tense. It occurred to him belatedly that he could fish his own wand out of his pocket — it wasn't as much of an instinct to reach for it as it had once been, before he'd spent years living without a wand in South America — but he wasn't sure that would help the situation any. It wasn't as though he had any plans to use his wand, and he wasn't at all confident in his ability to defend himself in time if the other man did. It might do more harm than good, then, to add more tension to a situation that already felt rather electric.

"Well," he said after a moment. "I'd say I'm glad to meet you, but under the circumstances..." He let the sentence drift off. He had no idea who this man was, really, or how he handled conflict, and he had no notion whatsoever of what he planned to do next — best not to keep talking and end up giving him any ideas.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Ari was surveying him closely, watching for some kind of sign of recognition. It seemed to click eventually, and the man did not draw his wand in turn, but neither did he seem too at ease about this. Which was good. Ari had been caught off guard by the Captain's presence in the hospital, hadn't factored that in to his plans for this encounter, didn't much like having to improvise now - but, on the upside, at least Darrow hadn't been expecting this, either.  

Still, now he had to work out what a man was supposed to do, in a situation like this. His wand was already out - if he raised it a little higher, he could hex him and... leave, perhaps? And hope that sent some kind of message? Of course, Ari hadn't hexed anyone in years, and he'd hardly have ever been called much one for duelling. He couldn't imagine he'd have even taken Defence Against the Dark Arts for all seven years if he hadn't thought he might need the qualification for working here - he remembered standing around reluctantly in the practical sessions, more than anything. How had he been supposed to know then that he'd be faced with a situation like this? How did one go about being intimidating?

(Shame he hadn't told Ben about this and just set an Auror on him, now that he thought about it.)

He did remember his days as a Prefect, though. That had mostly been chastising rulebreakers, and - well, he had been better at that. Lecturing might be the safer approach. A careful, controlled, sensible and direct sort of warning to him to stay away from Zelda, to think better of doing that again -

Ari had already been frowning, his eyebrows drawn low and his stare stony, but after Darrow's meagre reply - only eking out half a sentence, which was so puny and meaningless and contained no real hint that he was going to be sorry for any of it, save being sorry for having found himself here - he'd already lost the patience for it, and whatever miserable excuses he knew he was going to hear. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" Ari bit out, careful not to raise his voice but not certain he had full possession of his fury otherwise as he hissed out the next few words without waiting for an answer. "What you've put her through? You could have ruined her life."

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   Elsie Kirke

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Alfred couldn't help but flinch slightly at the other man's tone — not that it was any worse than he deserved, and since Ari Fisk hadn't yet cursed him or hexed him, it was a good deal less than he'd expected. The anger was justified; though Alfred had never found himself in any kind of similar situation with his own sister, he imagined he would have felt the same way if he had. Alfred had never intended to do any of that, but it didn't mean that the accusations were without merit. His intentions before or after the act itself didn't change the fact that it had happened, so he doubted Mr. Fisk would care — and besides, there wasn't any way for Alfred to express that sentiment without it seeming like a cowardly attempt to shirk responsibility for what he'd done.

And he could have ruined her life, there was no getting around that. At the very least, though, he could point out that he hadn't just sailed away into the sunset without a second thought, which ought to count for something. "I told her I'd marry her," he protested weakly. "If —" He had been planning on continuing with if it came down to that but thought better of it before the words left his mouth; that way of phrasing things implied a certain level of reluctance on his part. While he would have been less than overjoyed at the prospect of a shotgun wedding, it was only because he thought too much of marriage to be pleased by the idea of joining himself to someone he'd known less than a year — particularly if that someone despised him, as he had for months supposed that Zelda Fisk probably did. His reluctance had nothing to do with her, personally... but an offended and aggrieved brother would probably assume it did, and Alfred didn't feel this was the ideal time to expound upon his philosophical ideas about marriage.

"If that was what she wanted," he said instead. And he had been prepared, on the other hand, to fade out of her life entirely and never see or speak to her again, if that was what she'd wanted. As many letters as he'd started on the expedition, he'd never sent a single one — and he'd thought that leaving her alone when she didn't seem to have any desire to hear from him was the least he could do.

Of course, salvaging a reputation and ruining a life were not mutually exclusive. Ari Fisk might consider a future where his younger sister had ended up Mrs. Darrow a waste of her potential, and Alfred couldn't convincingly argue that he disagreed. "There wasn't anything else I could've done," he said a little desperately. Honestly, it was the truth — he'd been scheduled to leave in two days after the incident, and it wasn't as though he had the means either socially or financially to offer her anything other than the honorable thing he would have owed her.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

"If that was what she wanted?" Ari repeated, the words spitting out incredulously. He had to take a step towards Darrow, wand still poised in his hand, just to prevent himself from raising his voice and broadcasting this whole mess to the whole damned hospital.

It was easy for him to say now, that he would have married her, that he would have done anything, but to make it sound like it would be Zelda's choice after all, like the very option of marriage wasn't just another bad card in a rotten hand... Darrow must not know her at all, to even think it: Zelda had not leapt at the thought of marriage even when it was an abstract, even when it might have been a man she loved and not under duress, so if this man thought saving her reputation at the sake of her freedom and her happiness was something to be lauded, Ari wasn't convinced that words would be enough, after all.

"What, while you were off on an adventure somewhere?" He scoffed instead, because the truth was - and Zelda had probably feared this herself - when the possibility of her pregnancy had come around, Darrow was nowhere to be found. Whatever he had been willing to do in theory - he might have been long gone, and good intentions were nothing lost at sea. "And what if you hadn't come back? She might have lost her job, her -" Ari broke off, almost too livid to continue. Perhaps not her family, even if the pregnancy had come out as a scandal, but certainly her reputation, her freedoms... she would have poisoned herself first. He supposed Darrow would not have considered that at all. No, Captain Darrow had come back when things had blown over, and convinced himself he had done all he could, when he was entirely to blame.

On that note - his voice was low but venomous - "How about thinking, before you put her in that situation in the first place?"

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Alfred took a quick and instinctive step back as the other man approached, bracing himself for an attack that never came. Honestly, at this point it might almost have been a relief if Mr. Fisk had decided to punch him or hex him. He certainly hadn't had get into a brawl with Zelda Fisk's brother on his to-do list that morning when he'd set out for the hospital, but at least if things devolved that far he would have known what to do. Physically, he could handle himself in a fight - his early career as a sailor and then the years spent living in the wilds of South America had given him ample practice. Magically, he was less confident, but unless Ari Fisk resorted to some particularly cruel spells he could at least endure whatever was thrown his way, he thought. Verbally - well. Words had never been his forte.

It didn't particularly help that he agreed with everything the other man was saying. Not that anyone would believe that now, given what had happened (except Zelda, but Zelda was young and impressionable and liked him quite a bit and was giving him far more of the benefit of the doubt than his actions deserved in that respect). Still, he hadn't been planning on seducing her. His own memories of the series of events that night leading up to the incident itself were hazy at best, a testimony to how impaired his judgement had been (as if that mattered; Ari Fisk was unlikely to accept I was drunk as any kind of excuse whatsoever). Even with his somewhat piecemeal recollections, though, he knew that it had been Zelda who had sought him out, who had started the conversation, who had kissed him. Whatever his feelings on the matter were — whatever his feelings towards her were — he had no intention of acting on anything, because he knew that what Mr. Fisk was saying now was right. Whatever had happened, he couldn't have just up and left in the middle of the expedition, not when he was the captain, and he wouldn't have been here in a timely fashion if she had needed him. He was hardly insensitive to the uncertainties involved when he left for any length of time, and he'd done his best (up until that night on the boat) to keep her at arm's length, for her sake, so that she wouldn't be spending months of the summer sitting around and wondering whether or not he was coming back.

(Ari Fisk would not have heard, Alfred assumed, about the time that Zelda had propositioned him in his office, months before the incident — not that it mattered. Having done the right and respectable thing once did not excuse his later conduct, particularly when his actions had placed her very much in jeopardy).

"I can't go back and undo it," he pointed out quietly. This conversation had the feeling of one which could easily escalate into a shouting match, but if voices were going to be raised Alfred wasn't going to be the first to do so. "What do you want me to say?" Alfred thought the fact that he regretted it and had no intention of repeating the incident went without saying, but realized on only the briefest of reflection that Ari Fisk didn't know him — and even if he did, he would have no reason to trust in the strength of his character, given recent events. With that in mind, he added hastily, "It wasn't — I don't do things like this. It's not going to — happen again."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Whilst Ari didn't know precisely what he was asking for, himself, in answer - he knew full well nothing could be undone - he did feel a spark of relief that Darrow at least realised that too and was beginning to sound duly conciliatory about it. It was not, he supposed, the worst the conversation could possibly be going.

Or, well, it wasn't, for that brief moment, before Darrow stumbled over an admission that this wasn't him, or like him, or whatever (admittedly, he didn't outwardly seem like the type, hardly came across as a typical rake) and Ari realised, abruptly, that nothing the man said meant a thing. Whether he believed what he said or not, he was an adult - Julian's age, wasn't he? - a grown man, and Zelda had been an impressionable nineteen-year-old girl, so there was no worthy excuse he could drum up that would negate the fact that he was still the one responsible.

And how could he trust that any of this was the truth?

"Oh, so do you mean to tell me you haven't seen her again since?" Ari growled, full of accusation, because rumours did not spring up from nowhere. Perhaps they were right, if their meeting had been so public that word had spread to Hogsmeade, that it was work-related, but the public did not know what Ari knew (what Ari had been forced, quite against his own will, to find out). No, it was almost too much of a coincidence. He would have expected better from Zelda, but - well, he didn't know what to expect anymore. Maybe she had only ended things with him, and Mr. - Captain - Darrow would have one good thing to say to him presently.

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Compared to their last meeting in the spring, the little conversation he'd had with Zelda Fisk in August seemed so innocuous that Alfred hadn't thought to be ashamed of it. It wasn't that the idea that they shouldn't be seen talking together had never occurred to him (it had, when he'd first discovered her sleeping on the bench outside the office in the Museum), but after nearly a month of no direct consequence he'd put that particular danger out of his mind. He hadn't imagined that anyone had seen, or cared, that the two of them had spoken, and he was so surprised by the question that he could think of nothing to say but the truth.

"She asked me to," he said, putting his hands up in front of his stomach in a half-hearted gesture of defense. "I couldn't very well say no. She — might've needed something, you know," he continued, flushing once more. What he wasn't saying in that last sentence didn't need to be said, he trusted — she might have been pregnant, and Alfred wasn't trying to run away from those potential consequences if that had been the case. Ari Fisk may not have been happy with the fact that they'd met and talked (particularly given the direction that conversation had gone — did he know about that, or only that they'd seen each other?) but if the situation had been something slightly different, Alfred was sure no one would have forgiven him for not agreeing to meet with her. Not that she'd really left him much of a choice, staking out the Museum as she'd done.

(This was the second time that he'd been ambushed by a Fisk in as many months; perhaps it was a family tactic. He doubted this conversation was going to end as amiably as the one with Zelda had, no matter what he said between now and the end of it.)

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

There were a few contenders for what finally made Ari lose his cool.

One. She asked me to. Darrow had not denied seeing her again, which was a point in his favour, but... if he was telling the truth here, it meant Zelda had arranged that meeting, and - somehow - that was a great deal worse. Yes, she might have needed something, which might have excused him, but Ari knew perfectly well that she hadn't needed Darrow for that. Instead, maybe she had said some sensible things to the man - and maybe she hadn't. But she had gone to see him, after everything that had happened, and...

Two. I couldn't very well say no. That old chestnut. No, precisely as Captain Darrow had not been able to say no to her on the night that had caused this domino chain of events. If Zelda had him wrapped about her finger so, would the man ever manage to muster up enough self-control to do the intelligent thing?

So, three. Neither of them could be trusted to do the sensible thing, and now Ari had found himself caught up and complicit in this mess, somehow. There was nothing much else he could try to undo it all, but... Were they both oblivious to the real world around them? Were they unaware that if Brannon found out - if Ari told him, because he would darn well have to if he couldn't put a stop to this and contain the problem here and now - Ari was not the only party they would be answering to?  

"Well, she didn't," Ari snapped, the anger blistering up again, "so now you can - damn well - stay away from her -" he only got so far, for at the same time he had flung his arm out in sheer frustration, realising belatedly that his wand was still in hand, and still aimed at Darrow. Surely that - wouldn't do anything, Ari thought abruptly, but perhaps he had been picturing knocking the man out a little too forcefully (he did not think this often, but a fist to the face would have done nicely), because a jet of light shot out from his wand all the same. Ari looked on in alarm, not entirely sure what he'd done - let it only be a knockback jinx!

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The following 1 user Likes Ari Fisk's post:1 user Likes Ari Fisk's post
   Ophelia Devine

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The vehemence of the man's response surprised him, particularly given that up until this conversation Alfred hadn't considered that he had done anything wrong. In the month of August, at any rate. Obviously he had done something very wrong before setting sail, but Ari Fisk hadn't lashed out at him over that, which made Alfred leap to the conclusion that he must have known more about his last conversation with Zelda than he had let on. If he knew the two of them had ended on amiable terms — and if he knew that Alfred had sent her a modest present from Egypt — there were any number of directions his thoughts might have gone after that. Maybe he'd concluded that Alfred was trying to seduce her again (which would have been an entirely reasonable assumption, from the facts he had, even though Alfred had no intention of doing so), or that he was otherwise taking advantage of Zelda's naivete.

Alfred didn't really have time to reflect on that assumption before the spell hit him, knocking him back against the counter top and sending several items previously located there (some, judging by the sound, made of glass) scattering around the room. It wasn't so much painful as it was shocking — though he supposed he really shouldn't have been shocked, since the man had had a wand leveled at him for the entire conversation. Still, that he was being attacked now seemed a bit... well, unfair, really, though he knew better than to use that word in this context.

"Bloody hell," he managed, when he caught his breath again. Once the initial shock had worn off a bit, he realized he did hurt: the edge of the counter had jabbed into his lower back, giving him the feeling that if he tried to stand up he'd be crooked, and his head was lightly thrumming from the impact. He raised a hand instinctively to see whether there was a lump, or anything of the sort, and realized his hand was bleeding — he'd bashed it against something that had broken. He didn't know what — he couldn't even really discern the shape of the gash, just a smear of bright red.

"Alright," he said quickly, well aware that in these circumstances — in close quarters with a man who was armed and already aiming at him, when Alfred hadn't even thought to keep his wand in a readily accessible pocket — he was outmatched and could very easily end up in a bad way. "I will. There's no need for — this," he said, making a sweeping gesture towards the room at large with his bleeding hand.

The following 1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post:1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post
   Elias Grimstone

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

It was, for a moment, disconcertingly satisfying, watching the man be thrown backwards like this had at last come to blows. One accidental spell had vented his frustrations possibly better than all his angry words had done - perhaps had even made more of an impact. For that moment, a long-dormant reflex rising in his head, jinxes were leaping to mind that he'd only ever used back in classes at school, things he had filed away somewhere as good for a duel but not expected to find himself revisiting. However rusty he was with those, both he and his wand had always had an affinity for non-verbal magic, so at least Ari might stand a chance at repelling any counter curses that came his way -

Reality settled in in the next moment, along with the sound of shattering glass and a loud thud, which was to say, Ari noted the resulting mess and Darrow's shock and his complete and utter lack of retaliation and suddenly wondered what on earth am I doing. Picking a fight (deservedly so, at least!) with a man he'd never met - who was bleeding somehow over the workroom - and this was a workroom in his workplace. "Shit," Ari muttered, grimacing to himself at the state of all this. Darrow began to deflect - wasn't arguing, wasn't rising to the bait - and so Ari managed to jerk his head in a terse nod, still looking at the man but temporarily more preoccupied by listening out past the door, lest anyone come running to aid in the sound of an accident and discovered - whatever Ari thought he was doing here. He lowered his wand towards the floor briefly, suddenly sheepish, but paced over briskly, checking that no important hospital apparatus had been damaged or that any toxic potions or ingredients had been spilled. The crash had been worse than the actual mess, he gleaned, but he pointed his wand hurriedly at some of the glass to see it repaired into the set of phials and bottles it had evidently been.

Once he'd set one of the small cauldrons aright again on the worktop (there was a little bit of a dent from how it had fallen, but that could be dealt with later -) he studied Darrow again, trained mostly on the cut hand so that he come across quite as rueful as he was. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't -" he gave up on apologising - he didn't feel that sorry - so merely cleared his throat and changed tack. "Did it get you anywhere else, or - just your hand?"

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Alfred couldn't help but be a little suspicious as the other man turned his attention to the mess. Was this some kind of trap? Fisk hardly seemed about to lash out at him, but he hadn't given much warning before his first spell, either, and Alfred noted that he hadn't put his wand away. Alfred wasn't sure whether what he'd said had really been enough to mollify the healer — and, to be honest, he still wasn't entirely sure what had set him off in the first place. He didn't want him anywhere near Zelda, that much was clear, but... well, knowing everything that he did, it was hardly as though he would have been surprised by the fact that they'd talked on a few occasions.

Which he supposed he'd just agreed to stop doing, although he hadn't really been thinking about it as the words had left his mouth. He'd just been saying the first thing that came to mind in order to get himself out of this situation, and based on how Fisk was reacting he might have hit upon the right thing. What exactly had he agreed to, though? Did Ari Fisk expect him to stop trying to get to know Zelda, or was this a flat ban on seeing her in any capacity? Probably the latter, though that was problematic. She had a pervasive habit of showing up in his life. He had not been seeking her out when — well, come to think of it, ever. Their first few meetings were the result of happenstance, as far as he was concerned, and the rest were times when she had sought him out. If that kept happening, he might find himself at the wrong end of Mr. Fisk's wand again, for failing to keep the hastily-spoken promise he'd just given.

But these were misgivings for another time; he certainly wasn't going to discuss them with the man who had just attacked him in a supply closet.

"Just my hand," he replied tersely, flexing his fingers to ensure that he could still use them all. The cut wasn't really that deep, he could see now; it was just deep enough to bleed, and because of the location was doing so at an alarming rate. It looked much worse than it was, which the other man, as a healer, could probably tell at a glance.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Just his hand, thank Merlin. It was only a surface cut, as far as Ari could see - although even that was more damage than he had intended to do. But, though he had asked, though it was his job, he couldn’t exactly go over and bandage up the same man he’d just (unwittingly, he supposed, but nevertheless) attacked, now could he? It would be enough to give anyone whiplash.

Ari hesisted for a long moment, then jerked his head in an awkward sort of nod. “A drop of dittany ought to do it,” he instructed from a distance, flicking his wand at one of the storage cabinets in the room until the little stoppered bottle of the healing essence floated out towards Darrow. That would do to knit the cut closed and stop the bleeding.

“And then you’d better go,” Ari said, the tone of that direction hovering oddly between apologetic and obstinate. He felt as though he ought to have gotten his message across better, explained everything Zelda had been through in the months he’d been gone, and what she might be put through again if he found himself in her life again; but, although he did not trust the man in the slightest, he did have the glimmer of an instinct that Darrow hadn’t intended to swan in and screw up Zelda’s whole life without thinking.

And with any luck, he would keep his word and refrain from trying it again. Ari, still clutching his wand firmly, turned towards the door to see the lock click open, and stepped out of Darrow’s path. “And if you go near her again, I won’t be the only one you’ll be answering to,” Ari added grimly for good measure. (Julian might be to blame for this mess, but he could make up for it with his expertise in curses, and Leonid would be a good hand in a proper duel. And Brannon - well - if there was a next time, he was sure to find out eventually.)

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