When he had returned to his office after attending a hearing, there had been a letter waiting for him. He’d had to read it twice to believe it.
Though really, he oughtn’t be surprised. Even with Alfred in the country for once, and his ship docked and retained by the Ministry, he had managed it. Evander allowed himself to heave a sigh before grabbing his coat and getting out of there. Fortunately, the letter from Z. Fisk - Miss Fisk, if he recalled, the one from Accidents & Catastrophes - had said Alfred was stable, which lent him hope that this was a minor escapade. Unfortunately, she had also offered her sincere apologies, which felt a great deal more ominous - and knowing J. Alfred Darrow’s tendencies, of course, it may well be another near-death experience. (Forget Pictish curses, their whole family was bloody cursed at this point.)
He’d considered going to get Charity on the way, but that felt like a dreadful idea if Alfred was bad, because the last thing Charity needed was to see another of her relatives lying in a hospital bed, with who-knew-what injuries. (If he wasn’t even awake, Merlin...) He expected Alfred might have been more pleased to see his niece’s face than just Evander’s, on his potential deathbed, but what else was there for it? Evander could hardly let him die alone.
He felt a little pale and clammy the moment he was directed to the Artifact Incidents ward and then to the room that held his brother, too. It was the feverishness of not knowing, probably; and the worry that finding out how bad things were would somehow manage to be worse. He stood in the doorway for a moment, knuckles white, and then forced himself to step inside.
And - that - that was not exactly the picture he’d been expecting. Decidedly not the picture. Firstly, Alfred was awake after all. And sitting up. And had his arm around presumably-Miss-Fisk, who was sitting on the bed beside him, which - perhaps he was wrong, but - did not really seem like part of her duty of care as a Ministry employee. (Unless Magical Accidents & Catastrophes did things... quite differently?) She had said she would wait with him, certainly, which was considerate of her... but if Evander had had to hazard an explanation of anything here, he would have said it was Alfred comforting her, and not the other way round. Which made no sense. None.
And Evander had stepped in and unceremoniously frozen there, his eyes wide and his ears going redder by the second, which he supposed must be some instinctive but entirely useless bodily plea for help. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sorry, am I - interrupting?” Though he rather thought he knew the answer to that already.
Though really, he oughtn’t be surprised. Even with Alfred in the country for once, and his ship docked and retained by the Ministry, he had managed it. Evander allowed himself to heave a sigh before grabbing his coat and getting out of there. Fortunately, the letter from Z. Fisk - Miss Fisk, if he recalled, the one from Accidents & Catastrophes - had said Alfred was stable, which lent him hope that this was a minor escapade. Unfortunately, she had also offered her sincere apologies, which felt a great deal more ominous - and knowing J. Alfred Darrow’s tendencies, of course, it may well be another near-death experience. (Forget Pictish curses, their whole family was bloody cursed at this point.)
He’d considered going to get Charity on the way, but that felt like a dreadful idea if Alfred was bad, because the last thing Charity needed was to see another of her relatives lying in a hospital bed, with who-knew-what injuries. (If he wasn’t even awake, Merlin...) He expected Alfred might have been more pleased to see his niece’s face than just Evander’s, on his potential deathbed, but what else was there for it? Evander could hardly let him die alone.
He felt a little pale and clammy the moment he was directed to the Artifact Incidents ward and then to the room that held his brother, too. It was the feverishness of not knowing, probably; and the worry that finding out how bad things were would somehow manage to be worse. He stood in the doorway for a moment, knuckles white, and then forced himself to step inside.
And - that - that was not exactly the picture he’d been expecting. Decidedly not the picture. Firstly, Alfred was awake after all. And sitting up. And had his arm around presumably-Miss-Fisk, who was sitting on the bed beside him, which - perhaps he was wrong, but - did not really seem like part of her duty of care as a Ministry employee. (Unless Magical Accidents & Catastrophes did things... quite differently?) She had said she would wait with him, certainly, which was considerate of her... but if Evander had had to hazard an explanation of anything here, he would have said it was Alfred comforting her, and not the other way round. Which made no sense. None.
And Evander had stepped in and unceremoniously frozen there, his eyes wide and his ears going redder by the second, which he supposed must be some instinctive but entirely useless bodily plea for help. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sorry, am I - interrupting?” Though he rather thought he knew the answer to that already.
