The Places That I've always avoided. /Closed

[Deleted]

Tristan wondered if his wand would even come to him. Knowing his luck, it probably wouldn’t. It was probably caught under his desk that he saw had finally collapsed. He wondered if he had time to unbury it from its wooden grave. He looked back to Ashton and saw that he was slowly rising to his feet. There would be no way that he could make it there and back without receiving some sort of repercussions. As if on cue, he had the wind knocked out of him. He fell and began coughing. Apparently Ashton had every intention of making every single part of his body hurt in some way. Tristan heard Ashton say something, but it sounded very muttered and discombobulated. The color emitting from his wand indicated that he tried to use a spell but failed miserably. He laughed. He was sure the office had thought he had lost his mind. In a way, he had. Wentworth always managed to bring out a monster that Tristan forgot he had until he laid eyes on him.

He couldn’t imagine what was going through the minds of his co-workers. This was the most excitement that some had ever seen in their lives, he was sure of it after seeing the look on some of their faces. Others were horrified and terribly offended. Those ones were mostly the older witches and wizards, still set in their ways from the golden days. Never would two parties who had a problem with the other settle their dispute in front of a crowd. If they couldn’t settle their differences by talking, then they avoided the situation altogether. Everyone else seemed to love that their wands and fists were doing the talking. Marguerite had gone to get Rutherford or someone of his stature. Tristan was certain of this. With as much undying love as his secretary had for him she would not allow anything to happen to her beloved boss. This was the one time her eagerness to help him was unaccepted. He didn’t want Rutherford to come and ruin their fun. He wanted the eyes of his co-workers on him as they watched him beat Wentworth to a bloody pulp.

The odds continued to not go in his favor. Tristan had been laughing at how ridiculous Wentworth sounded. The next minute Ashton’s fist had its turn in colliding with his jaw. His jaw tore to the left. It was not as strong as he had hit Wentworth earlier, but still hurt enough. His teeth ground together as his jaw shifted. He was unsure, but the force had been enough to shave particles from one of his back teeth off. The taste was atrocious. Tristan spit out the pieces of his tooth as best as he could. Merlin what he wouldn’t give for another blow to Wentworth’s face. He hadn’t managed to do any damage to his eye. A broken eye socket would suit him.

”MY WORD! What’s going on here?”

There was the voice he was waiting for. They both looked at Rutherford as he stood over them. Tristan felt like two children fighting and the teacher coming out to scold them. They looked the part. He could feel the swelling in his jaw. Discoloration was evident. His knuckles were also bruised and scratched up. The pain in his shoulder had died down but it was numb. Wentworth, on the other hand, was still bleeding and had a lovely shade of black and blue on his cheekbone. He had scratches all over himself as well. Wanting to have the last word, Tristan felt another punch land in the same area as before. His pride suffered an even bigger blow than his face. If he really wanted to continue the assault on Ashton, he could have. Now that a Ministry official was in the vicinity, he would be terminated. Pretty boy Wentworth would be the fortunate one to go unscathed in this whole mess. A slap on the wrist, that’d be it.

When neither spoke up again Rutherford continued. ”Mr. Stavros! Mr. Wentworth! Will you mind telling me just what in the blazes you two are doing?! You’ve destroyed government property and cost the Ministry several hundreds of galleons to refurnish your office Mr. Stavros! Explain yourselves!” Tristan looked at Wentworth and mouthed, “This isn’t over.” This would be the only time he would allow Ashton to get the best of him. He had a reputation to uphold and Tristan had every intention on keeping it. Pushing Wentworth away from him a little too forcefully, he struggled to get up. His hand cradled his jaw when he finally managed to rise to his feet. “I wash ‘howing him some moves I ‘ad learned.” Damn Wentworth and his calculated punch. “He ‘owed me some of his and we bof…got carried away.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

He could feel his heart pounding blood into his ears, it was horrible. The whole side of his head felt like it was swollen. The sound of Tristan's vexing laughter echoed in his ears, he could just see that stupid face smiling at him as he had continued to punch it, desperate to shut it up if it was the last thing that he did. As he had dropped the shirt which was now stained with his blood he wanted to kick Tristan where it counted, if he was lucky the boss wouldn't see what had happened. The picture of Tristan spitting out chunks of tooth was one that he wished he could have had framed and hung up in his own, still in tact office. He would have smiled at that as he thought about Tristan's demolished office but his face was frozen. Whatever happened to him, at least he would have the knowledge that he had succeeded in making Tristan's life just that much more difficult. Whenever he got to go home tonight, on time, he would delight in knowing that Stavros was still here, putting back the pieces of what undoubtedly was weeks worth of paperwork. Maybe, if he wasn't still going to be under the watchful eye of Rutherford he could stop back up here to rub some more salt in the wound before heading home.

He could picture it now, coming up here late in the afternoon, the only light on in the whole floor is the one coming out of the hole where Starvos' door used to be, he can hear the sound of papers being jostled about, bits of glass and wood pushed around the floor as he attempted to shuffle through what was left of his desk to find whatever stamp he needed to make documents official. The little puppy he called his secretary would have left him alone per his request because he wasn't in a good enough mood to deal with her devotion. Ashton would walk up, leaning in the door frame and kick some of the rubble about, watching as Starvos reached his boiling point once more. Hopefully, he still wouldn't have found his wand in all of this mess and Ashton would be the only one armed. Not that he was going to use it, more of he just wanted to have the upper hand if it was needed. He would make a few jabs, maybe call his mother some choice names, he seemed like the upstanding family type and Stavros would lunge at his body out of anger, wanting to win but Ashton would just dodge the attacks, and step over his body once he had fallen. Content just to know that Tristan knew, he was the victor here, and there was nothing that he could do about it, then he would go home, knowing that there was nothing Stavros could do without jeopardizing his precious job. Better yet, this whole scenario would play out just as Ashton was leaving for an assignment, then he could rub in the fact that he was getting to be a real Auror, not just pretending like he was. That would be a great day indeed.

Now, looking into Rutherford's eyes he sighed, it didn't seem like he was going to get to have his glory gloating time. For some reason, Rutherford seemed hurt, like he was ashamed of him, it made him feel like a child. His hand automatically went to his ear, like it used to whenever he was back home at Mama O's, she would always grab him and Warren by the ears whenever they were bad, she wouldn't raise her voice or hit them, there was no spanking or real violence allowed in the house after all. She would just grab their ears and pull, and wait until the pain in their ears was too much for ether of them to want to continue doing whatever it was, one tended to want to protect their ears at all costs. They were such funny little flaps of flesh, one didn't ever feel them, or really acknowledge their presence unless they were being compromised. As his fist had connected with Tristan's face the last time, he had felt so alive, now he momentarily just wanted to be back on that stupid tour, looking at whatever poster Fordie felt the need to tell him a story about at that moment. The man sure did love his job, apparently he loved this building even more. ”Mr. Stavros! Mr. Wentworth! Will you mind telling me just what in the blazes you two are doing?! You’ve destroyed government property and cost the Ministry several hundreds of galleons to refurnish your office Mr. Stavros! Explain yourselves!”

Leaning back on his heels he just sat there, he had a dozen excuses lined up before, but now he couldn't think of anything, even if he had it was unlikely that he was going to be able to voice any of them in a manor that they would have been understood. Glancing at Stavros he could feel his chest heaving as he worked to steady his breathing. He saw what looked like 'This isn't over' but with his mouth all lopsided it was hard to be sure. The corners of his mouth turned up involuntarily, wincing as his cheek had been forced to move, he was going to have to hit the gym shortly after this, he was ashamed that Tristan's jaw didn't look like his did. “I wash ‘howing him some moves I ‘ad learned.” Much like a child, he felt himself nodding along with whatever it was that Tristan had just said, how could he not? After all, he might as well not even have a mouth at this point. Attempting to rise to his feet, he fell backwards once before gaining his balance and rising to his full stature, poking hesitantly at the sore flesh on the side of his face. While it was an absurd excuse, what moves could he possibly be showing Ash that he didn't already know? Rutherford seemed to accept it "There is a TIME and a PLACE young men. I would expect you to know that" They were being scolded, but it just didn't seem to have the same impact as it would have if it had been coming from Mama O, guess he had grown up a little bit after all, or at least become more belligerent. One of the two. Merlin all he wanted to do right now was smoke. And eat, preferably at the same time. However, given the new state of his jaw neither of those were in his future for a nice long while, he wasn't the type of guy who indulged in shakes or any other sort of liquid meal.

“He ‘owed me some of his and we bof…got carried away." Another involuntary smirk graced his face, followed by a wince shortly after. Rutherford was making his way toward the pair of them as quickly as his squat frame would allow. Watching him wordlessly, he was helpless to protest whenever he felt a hand on the lower part of his back, he noticed that Fordie had sneak attacked the both of them and was escorting them toward the lifts. "You two hooligans need to get yourselves to the healers straight away, you both still have things to do today" Ashton wanted to protest, he wanted to say that it would heal in time just leave it along, he also wanted to point out that if they got the cleaning crew in here that they should be able to fix the office in a matter of seconds, but he was also hoping that they were going to make Stavros pay for it himself, maybe clean it up the muggle way. His brow arched at the thought that he wasn't able to verbalize. He was choosing to ignore that even in leiu of recent events he was most likely not going to get out of finishing the damned tour. Standing here in the lift, waiting for the doors to close he wanted to frown. Reaching a single hand behind Fordies head slowly, so as not to be noticed, he flicked Stavros' ear.

[Deleted]

Tristan lowered his eyes to the ground. The teacher had taken the two of them to the headmaster to get scolded. He wondered what the punishment was going to be. Knowing his damn luck this would be yet another hindrance to his Auror level status. He had been so damn stupid and full of testosterone. When he had woken up this morning, the last thing he had expected was to be looked down upon by one of the members of the Magical Law Enforcement department. Not once while he was eating his cereal did he picture himself not being able to properly eat dinner later on that night. Nor did he think his office would look like a warzone several hours after entering it. The impact that the appearance of Wentworth had on his day was astounding. The sheer thought of the man being in the same building as him on a daily basis made him cringe. Tristan wondered if this would be the first of many on-the-job battles. Still, he wouldn’t be surprised if Rutherford already warned his secretary to send for him at the first sight of Wentworth in the Magical Games and Sports department. If that happened, he also pondered if he could sweet talk Marguerite into ignoring Rutherford’s request and just letting the prat in. Getting the chance to beat Ashton’s face in on a daily basis was too good to pass up. He hoped Wentworth was enjoying his moment. This would be the only time he ever had it.

He looked up to see Ashton pulling at his ear like an idiot. Had he managed to inflict damage on his eardrum at some point? Tristan smirked. Good, maybe he could get in one more hit without him hearing that it was coming. He felt even more vindication when the man tried to stand up and fell backwards at once. Ashton may have gotten the last punch, but he had provided a more sound beating. It was only a taste of what else he had in store the next time they met. "There is a TIME and a PLACE young men. I would expect you to know that.” He nodded in natural response. To some there was, but anytime was good for Tristan. Glancing back into his office he let out a frustrated sigh. So many hours of work awaited him in there. Deep down, he hoped Rutherford would send him home for the day and have someone else do the work meant for him. It was a longshot especially since several of those folders needed a response by the end of the day, but he could hope.

"You two hooligans need to get yourselves to the healers straight away, you both still have things to do today.” Tristan’s hopes were crushed. Feeling Rutherford’s hand lead him in the direction of the lift he put up no argument. Wentworth , however, looked like he wanted to throw a temper tantrum. After provoking him before their fight Tristan knew how childlike he actually was. Honestly, he was astounded that Ashton hadn’t dropped to the floor and started kicking and screaming yet. He wished he would. Nothing would give him greater satisfaction then seeing big, bad Ashton Wentworth lying on his back kicking his feet in the air out of defiance. Tristan laughed as the image replayed in his mind.

As the three men entered the lift Rutherford smartly chose to continue standing between the two. He felt that would keep the two men at distance. Naturally he was wrong. Once the lift started moving a sudden pain hit his ear. Grasping the area he looked to the right and saw the innocent look on Wentworth’s face. ”You alright Mr. Stavros?” He nodded, avoiding the opportunity to tattle. He wouldn’t have said anything, but he didn’t want to say anything period. Moving his jaw at all caused an aching pain that didn’t go away so easily. Tristan continued to stare straight ahead as his hand moved carefully behind Rutherford. It was unfortunate that he could only use his injured right hand, but he would not let Wentworth get the last hit on this one. Raising his arm behind Rutherford’s back he slapped Ashton on the back of the head, quickly returning it once hearing the popping sound. His hand throbbed, but the pain was nothing to his feeling of contentment. ”Mr. Wentworth are you still feeling dizzy? Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon enough.”

The lift stopped and opened up at the nurses’ station in the building. Tristan frowned. The female healers at Everdines were much more attractive than the old prudes here. ”Matilda! Henrietta! I’ve got two gentlemen that need your care! Patch them up quickly if you don’t mind, schedules will be affected greatly if anymore time is wasted!” Getting one last parting shot at Wentworth as he was being led to a curtained-off space he extended his index finger and shot it across his neck, leaving him with a preview of their next meeting. At least he had the more attractive of the two nurses even though it only meant his had a tooth where the other was missing one.

[Ashton Wentworth]

The soft elevator music filled his ears, the soft tones of whatever classical song that was playing, whatever it was it was annoying. That and the sounds of their labored breathing filled the silence, Rutherford seemed like he was once again blissfully ignorant of the world around him. He seemed happy in his own little world, he didn't like having to play bad cop apparently. Well, Ashton and Stavros would be more than happy to go after that title for him. Ashton specifically would love the title, since his job actually had to do with law enforcement. At least he hoped it would after today, Rutherford had seemed a little more than indignant whenever he had seen the pair going at it. He didn't make a single comment until he saw Tristan flinch. A sense of satisfaction sunk into every fiber of his being. Clearing his smug expression as fast as he possibly could before he felt Tristan's eyes on him. If he could have managed it, he would have whistled. ”You alright Mr. Stavros?” Turning at the sound of a voice he looked at Stavros, interested to weather or not he was going to be a little bitch about it or not. Whenever he was satisfied that he had not spoken he turned his head back to the front of the elevator.

He really should have seen it coming, and attempted to move out of the way, but the impact of Stavros' hand on the back of Ashton's head was enough to make him see stars once again. He had moved too quickly as his head jerked forward, causing his balance to sway. He lost his footing as the lift moved about and he placed a hand on the panel in front of him for a moment to right himself as he returned to his spot next to Rutherford. Normally, a small pat wouldn't have effected him in the least, but given the state of his jaw any movement hurt him. ”Mr. Wentworth are you still feeling dizzy? Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon enough.” Nodding once to Rutherford he shot a nasty glance in Tristan's direction once Rutherford was no longer looking. As the lift came to a halt, he stepped out of his boss' grasp and left the lift on his own accord, ahead of everybody else. It might be petty but it made him feel a small amount better. ”Matilda! Henrietta! I’ve got two gentlemen that need your care! Patch them up quickly if you don’t mind, schedules will be affected greatly if anymore time is wasted!” He could hear the voice only a few paces behind him. Shoving his hands into his pocket, hopefully they weren't going to take too long or try to ask him too many questions.

He was fairly certain that he wouldn't have been able to even properly identify himself, he had left everything upstairs. Jacket, id badge and his wand crap he thought bitterly, why had he dropped it in the first place? He couldn't rightly remember, he just knew that he had done it during the heat of battle and that was just about it. A toothless witch came puttering over to where Ashton was standing, go figure that the one with a tooth ended up with Tristan. Rolling his eyes he had no choice but to keep his mouth shut. She set her want about getting his measurements and leading him toward a curtained off space, the pale green color was nauseating. He could hear the elderly witch muttering something under her breath as she took a look at his face, examining the extent of his damages. She looked over her shoulder in an attempt to get a look at Tristan who from how far she was straining, was no more than one cot down from him. Well this brought back memories, once again the pair of them were being attended to by healers. Albeit, the were not the youthful attractive witches at St. Everdines, they were far older and had a strange odor coming off of them. It was that old lady smell, and he couldn't even wrinkle his nose to do anything about it. His mouth might as well have been sewn shut given the fact that his jaw was now at least twice the size that it normally was. He just had to allow himself to be attended to by this woman, and breath in and out of her nose, letting her smell really seep in. This had to be karma at its very finest.

The witch went about charming the blood back into his body and repairing his lost tooth, she didn't seem to understand that he didn't mind being bruised up, it would just give him even more motivation but he couldn't voice his concerns. His mouth started to feel normal after a new minutes of her hand waving and wand tricks. He didn't know what it took to be a healer but he knew that it was damned impressive. It took some time but he could feel is headache lessening. Whenever she was done he was just left with a sickly yellow and green color plaguing his face, stretching the length of his jaw and up his cheek. Better than nothing he supposed, there was still a faint gash in his cheek from where his teeth had punctured through during their brawl. He felt his shirt being moved around as she checked his vitals and looked at the scratches on his back and sides, examined his fist with a soft 'tsk' ing noise. Nodding whenever she deemed him fit he peered around the curtain to see exactly where Rutherford was, he seemed to be talking to some poor witch near the lift a good distance from them. Thanking the witch with a hand shake she bustled about to handle her business, she was sure that she was just biding her time until her coworker was done so that they could gossip about the whole ordeal. As he inched past his curtain over to where he assumed that Tristan was being catered to. He could almost hear the witch fawning over him, one of those touchy feely older women who refused to let go of the glory days. There had to be something that he could do, the little 'your dead' bit that Stavros had shot him on his own way to get taken care of couldn't possibly be the last word between the two of them.

[Deleted]

His whole body ached. As he followed the nurse Tristan prayed that sweet relief would soon come to him. At this point he could have cared less where Wentworth had been sent off too. The numbness from his shoulder had now worn off and, like his hand and jaw, was throbbing. The nurse ushered him to a cot and Tristan immediately obeyed. She smelled like an old lady but her perfume was a nice distraction. She was probably one who tried to keep up with the latest fads as to make herself look younger. However, the amount of cleavage she was showing was a little much. That added to his aches and pains were making his stomach feel queasy. As old as she may have been Tristan still knew he had the better looking nurse and he was proud of that factor. He hoped the old bat a few curtained cots down was inappropriately touching Wentworth and making him feel extremely uncomfortable.

The nurse began doing what she did best. Refusing to move his jaw anymore than he had to Tristan opened it enough to where he could point at his shaved off tooth. After she had examined the tooth, his swollen knuckles, his shoulder and the entirety of the left side of his jaw the nurse shook her head. ”What in the world did you two do to yourselves.” He’d rather that question was left unanswered. She grabbed a cream from a rolling cart and began to massage it into his shoulder. Instantly the pain alleviated. She was working her fingers into his muscle a little longer than he would have expected, but dismissed it. The old witch had made him feel better after all. His hand was next. Taking it into her own the nurse used her other hand to begin pinpointing particular spots on his hand that appeared to be the most injured. He let out a few ows here and there but whatever she was doing seemed to be working. Tristan still noticed discoloration but the swelling was nonexistent. The only thing that was left was his jaw. Honestly he was most nervous about this part. Tristan prided himself on his chiseled jawline. If anything happened to it he would be devastated.

He flinched as her hands went up to his jaw. ”You look like a model.” Tristan nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut as took her time sliding her index finger across the edge. This was inappropriate. ”Such…strong…features.” How he wished she would stop. He opened his eyes in time to see her smiling at him. “Really..’urt,” he protested, slapping her hand away. Pouting, the witch began working on fixing his injury. Her hands were a little too rough at a few points but he didn’t protest. She was making him feel much better. She put a pair of gloves on before turning to his half-missing back tooth. That he was extremely thankful for. Tristan was sure she was putting some sort of putty to mold into it. Something metal went into his mouth next and hardened the putty until it felt like enamel. ”There. Finished.” Tristan stood up a little too fast and nearly lost his balance. “Thanks, um..appreciate it.” It was nice being able to talk normally again. ”Anytime sugar. Come down and visit even if you don’t need me to take care of you.” He shuttered at her wink. Merlin, the old woman made him feel dirty.

Grabbing his jacket from the bed Tristan disappeared behind the curtains. He should have expected it, but the first person he came face-to-face to was none other than Wentworth. The man was like a parasite. He could cut it from his skin and disinfect the area, but it’d still manage to find its way back. “What are you trying to pull now Wentworth?” he asked him, standing at a point where their noses were inches away. “You pissed because you didn’t manage to get my job taken away from me? Sorry to burst your bubble mate, but you aren’t going to get rid of me that easily. We’ve got unfinished business. You’d best enjoy your time before I expose you for the scum you really are.” Tristan had no idea of how he was going to do that, but he would make it his personal mission to find out. Wentworth had to have a crack somewhere that he could use to his advantage. He just had to find it.

[Ashton Wentworth]

His heart rate quickened as the curtain only inches from his face was ripped away, his eyes widened and his shoulders gave an involuntary flinch. His hand moved to his chest, he nearly dislocated his elbow as he forced it back down just as quickly, he didn't want to jerk to think that he was scared and take it the wrong way, but fighting reflexes was a very difficult thing to do. His featured darkened as Stavros' face really registered. That witch had really done quiet a number on him, while Ashton still had hints of yellow covering the span of his jawline and lower cheek Tristan looked just as healthy as whenever he had woken up in the morning, or so he assumed since he hadn't been present for that. Rolling his eyes he stuffed his hands down into his pockets as his eyes rolled in a half circle. Exhaling he could still taste hints of copper coming from some unknown location in his mouth. Absently, he ran the tip of his tongue over the spaces between his teeth and probed the roof of his mouth. Perhaps it was just residual, lifting his eyes to stare back at the being in front of him, a 'you're so dumb' look seemed to be glued to his features. Which, if in fact somebody were to charm his face to stick like that, might save him a lot of time, half of the people that he talked to on a daily basis, got nothing but that particular look from him, while it might be inconvenience for Kaydence to have to look at it would be all the more amusing to him as she looked more and more annoyed with him during their every encounter. Glancing around Tristan's shoulder he spotted the witch that had been treating him Yeah, that's fair he pouted to himself, at least she had teeth, and somehow he doubted that she smelt like gruel like his witch had. She sure had paid attention in class, and he almost considered going back to scold the one who had 'fixed' him. Returning to center he didn't want to give too much thought as to why he was jealous his healer had a tooth, just more karma he supposed.

“What are you trying to pull now Wentworth?” A smirk transformed from the vacant expression he had been using before. He wasn't trying to 'pull' anything, he was actually starting to wonder what would happen if he were to shove some of those various salves' into Tristan's open mouth, if they were going to cause some sort of reaction and cause his big Greek head to explode, or if he might get boils all over that Gremlin body of his and need some sort of transplant. Either were very good outcomes in the world of Wentworth. It appeared that Tristan really did assume that he had gotten the 'last word' checking over his shoulder to spot the exact location of his boss a bubble of glee started to form at the pit of his stomach whenever he couldn't spot him, nor hear his droll voice resonating from the small station they were in. Granted, they were only hidden behind curtains and pastel colored room dividers, but since their only witnesses were the two healing witches bustling about, no doubt gossiping 'who would get who' or what sort of dishes they could cook prunes into, or whatever it was that old people prattled on about. “You pissed because you didn’t manage to get my job taken away from me? Sorry to burst your bubble mate, but you aren’t going to get rid of me that easily. We’ve got unfinished business. You’d best enjoy your time before I expose you for the scum you really are." The sound of Tristan's voice was almost as vexing as nails on a chalk board. He hadn't even thought about taking Tristan's job, the ministry would no doubt have an impossible time attempting to replace him due to the fact that his job was just about as interesting as watching paint dry. While it would be nice never to have to deal with him again, the prospect of making him miserable enough to force him to quit might be an interesting challenge. His eyes narrowed at the scum comment, a lot of things he was, but scum wasn't one of them. He had worked his ass off to get the position that he had, and he was willing to venture that on the average day, he worked twice as hard as the pencil pusher in front of him.

He managed to force a airy laugh in hopes that anybody who was going to pass them might think that he was attempting to clear the air between the two of them. Since they were supposed to be on the same side and treat every coworker as 'family' and all of that nonsense. If Rutherford thought that he was going to be 'rehabilitated' by some sort of therapy with this man, he might have to quit himself. Grasping Tristan's crumbled lapel he pulled the man toward his face, as he pushed his own cranium toward his opponent, a crack was all he heard as his forehead connected with the other mans. Sure, it was petty but he didn't like being called names. His vision swam as he staggered back a few paces to recuperate from the damage he had done to his own head. It wasn't in perfect condition to start with, and this was not doing anything to help. He wouldn't have been surprised if a small knot was going to start forming instantly. He really never had learned how to stop, or when to walk away. As soon as his vision was only slightly spinning he glanced at the cot next to them, nothing on it that he could use to his advantage, and his wand was still in the rubble upstairs, somewhere in the scattered wood, Merlin he hoped that it didn't get tossed as somebody thinking that it was rubbish and chucking it into the incinerator. There were some gauze bandages and some tape. Aside from the bedding on the makeshift bed he wasn't sure how exactly it was going to help him at all in this situation. His eye caught on a small container of children's suckers in a clear fish bowl. He imagined tossing them into Stavros' face, but it wouldn't do much good except to serve as a distraction. He just wanted to beat the mans face in, something about the way that his eyes were just too close together made him want to break something. "Why don't you just say what you're really thinking" He smiled as best as he could "Just admit that you are jealous of me and be done with it" He teased, he knew that deep down he had to resent Ashton due to the fact that he was succeeding so well where he had failed, and he knew that it was a sore spot. There was a little fight felt in his veins. "You wish you were me"

[Deleted]

He smirked as his eyes took in Wentworth’s face. Discoloration was still on the prat’s face while his showed no sign of any previous altercation. At least he had something for Wentworth to be jealous of. Anytime they ended up in the hospital, which seemed to be every bloody time they met, he always got the preferential treatment. Whether it was pudding or having the most attractive nurses, Tristan was continually grateful that he had the edge over Wentworth in the medical department. “What’s the matter?” he asked, poking his finger into the man’s collarbone. “Pissed that my skin is flawless?” If the roles were reversed, he would have felt the same envy. As he continued to stare into the vacant eyes of the idiot before him Tristan wanted to punch him hard enough to watch his eyes roll around involuntarily. He was sure he could get in a few more hits before Rutherford would hear the commotion and come back to scold them again. It was risky, given that fighting was the exact reason why they were down here, but Rutherford didn’t scold them too bad initially. Tristan doubted they’d get any more than the slap on the wrist he had given them earlier. However, he didn’t think it would be too bad to get some time away from the job for a bit. Not the greatest attitude to have for a Ministry official, but he was tired of all the damn paperwork.

The sound of Ashton’s laughter confused Tristan. What was he trying to get at? Tristan’s question was answered seconds later as he felt his collar constrain around his neck. Wentworth’s face was so close to his own now that if he didn’t know any better, it looked like he was going to try and kiss him. “You’re the last person I want to snog with Wentworth. I’m sure old Henrietta over there will be more than willing to take my place.” The thought of Wentworth making out with the toothless granny made him want to vomit. All of a sudden, he felt a sharp pain in the middle of his forehead as bone crashed against bone. The wanker had headbutted him. Stumbling backwards, Tristan put his palm on throbbing area. His head was pounding. Stars floated around his head as he landed on a cot. He groaned. Leave it to Wentworth to hit him when he least expected it. His surroundings wouldn’t stop spinning. ”Why don’t you say what you’re really thinking?” He would if he’d be able to formulate a sentence. With the way things kept spinning around Tristan didn’t think it was possible for him to say anything that didn’t make him sound drunk. Either Ashton had a much thicker head than he had thought or Matilda hadn’t given him as good of care as he had hoped.

"Just admit that you are jealous of me and be done with it.” Tristan’s thoughts were confirmed. Wentworth was looking for a fight. What was worst was that there wasn’t a single iota of lie in his words. Tristan was jealous of him. He was jealous that he didn’t have to sit behind a desk day after day with endless piles of manila folders. He was jealous that he was able to go out into the field and rid the world of those who threatened it. Tristan had no idea what it was that he did, sounded like he just wrangled a bunch of mutts and bloodsuckers up so he could make them put his name on a piece of paper. That he wasn’t jealous of. He was jealous of the freedom that came with Wentworth’s job. He could moreorless do whatever he pleased and have everyone commend him for it. On Tristan’s end, if he signed his name to the wrong sheet of paper then he’d hear about it for the next three weeks. He could feel his blood pressure raising. The pain in his head was slowly starting to subside which made things stop spinning so much. Propping himself up, he glared at Ashton with pure hatred. He hated the man with every fiber of his being.

"You wish you were me.” That was it. Pushing himself from the bed Tristan stumbled once as he got on his feet. He lunged forward and tackled Ashton to the ground. Balling his hand up into a fist he sent it hurling straight into his eye socket. The sickening crunch was like music to his ears. Looking at the cart he had conveniently shoved them towards, he looked for whatever he could with his opponent. The only thing he saw were cloth bandage wraps. It would have to do. Grabbing it, he wound the strap around Wentworth’s neck and began pulling. The look on Tristan’s face was sadistic. He was usually a peaceful man who didn’t fight unless provoked. Nor did he ever want to kill someone. Wentworth was an exception to that. There was something about the man that made Tristan want to break his neck with his bare hands. It wasn’t normal. Thinking that he was hearing footsteps he turned his attention back to Ashton’s face. It was turning purple due to the lack of oxygen. Pulling it tighter he began laughing. “What do I need to be jealous for Wentworth? If I wanted to be a sheep herder I’d go work on a bloody farm.” The footsteps had stopped. Looking back to the door, Tristan let go of the bandages and smirked as he heard Wentworth’s head thud on the floor.

The only thing he could see on the cart was a bowl of lollipops. Lifting himself from Ashton’s body he reached in the bowl and took out two. Unwrapping the candy, he placed it in his mouth. He loved mango. Looking to see what the other flavor in his hand was he saw that it was coconut. Disgusted, he flung the helpless sucker into Wentworth’s lifeless form. “Here. It’ll make you feel all better.” Tristan knew it wouldn’t, but he enjoyed rubbing his triumph in the bloke’s face. The pain that had been taken away earlier had now resumed in his right hand. Shaking it, he took a seat on the edge of the cot and calmly waited for whatever it was that was to come next, whether it was from Rutherford, the nurses or Wentworth.

[Ashton Wentworth]

Merlin it had been satisfing watching the smug stupid look on Tristan's face as he had just sat there befuddled. He liked that his old rival was so jealous of him that it was palpable. He hoped that his knock on the mans forehead had rattled his brains loose for at least a little bit, he could stand to be taken down a hell of a lot more than just a single peg. With a false sense of security he had moved forward, advancing toward the man now laying on the cot in the small station. He was sure that somebody had heard the skulls hitting together, but he hoped that they would just shrug it off and keep going. Fighting was like ten years of therapy with every single punch he landed, and Tristan just formed a far too enticing target. He really wanted nothing more than to either be beaten to a pulp or take a chunk out of Stavros' ego by means of disfiguring that chiseled face. The old ladies who were their healers seemed to have either gone on break or turned off their hearing aides. Or, if they could see them then they were content to just watch, letting men be men or some other such crazy old lady talk. His fist balled at his side, and before he could even wind up a proper punch, Tristan was on him like white on rice. He felt a strange sensation in his eye as the bone above his cheek cracked. His face wasn't in the best of shape to begin with, he hardly even noticed that he was falling backwards against the cart of medical supplies since the force of blood rushing to surround his eye. It started to yellow and swell instantly, it was going to be the most disgusting shade of purple he had ever seen in his life if it wasn't treated, and soon. Whenever he had been punched earlier, it had hurt, but nothing like this, Stavros had thrown his entire weight behind it, he felt like his head was about to explode. Luckily, Ashton was nothing if not a fighter. He allowed his left eye to close to accommodate for the swelling that was to come, he would just have to do with the one eye. It was a disadvantage for him that evened the overall playing field between the two of them.

Before he had a chance to really regain his footing and shove off of the cart Tristan had found a ace bandage from the cart behind him and wrapped it around his throat. This was taking their fight to a level that the two of them had not yet been to. They had been in countless fights and Ashton had managed to pull dozens of petty pranks on him during their years in school together, bu never once had he tried to kill him. They happened to have almost died together, which would have been horrible but a crazy werewolf was the one doing the damage, sure they had been fighting each other before the crazy beast had attacked, but she was the one who had done the damage. The darkness behind Stavros' eyes was intimidating, even for a pompous man like Ashton. At first, the bandages stretched so it was uncomfortable, but not horrible, his hand clasped with one thumb under the fabric out of instinct, using all the force in his one arm to lessen the pressure that Stavros was starting to apply. As the fabric had stretched as far as it possibly could the burning started to set in. Both in his lungs and as the fabric constricted against his skin. He could feel a pressure in his ears as they begged to pop and he could hear everything like he was under water, he could see the lips of his opponent start to twist into a sneer. It made him furious, this was not how he died. Not after everything that he had been through in his twenty three years, he was far too young and still had a lot of trouble that he needed to get to. The hand that wasn't attempting to lessen the pressure on his neck reached for Stavros' throat but he couldn't reach, that or his depth perception was off and he couldn't judge the distance properly. Settling for his shoulder his thumb found a pressure point and started to use all the force that he could muster into getting Tristan to let go. Which he did, but only marginally, he wasn't sure weather it was due to his efforts or the fact that he was distracted.

. “What do I need to be jealous for Wentworth? If I wanted to be a sheep herder I’d go work on a bloody farm.” Thought it was muffled, he could hear the sound of laughter, as angry as he was it took a back seat to the fact that he needed to focus on living. He was going to go for his eyes, Stavros wanted to fight dirty, he could do the same, his hand began to inch up toward the man's eyes, he was starting to shake, his limbs were not responding to his commands, the world was starting to get very foggy, darkness was forming fuzz around his vision, like starting down a tunnel. He would never forgive himself if he died at the hands of this bastard. His thumb found purchase and before he could apply any pressure he found his body crumbling, he knew that his head had hit the floor, and aside from the feeling of oxygen and blood returning to his body he couldn't feel much else. Ashton gasped for air, his whole body felt like it was on pins and needles. It was not a feeling that he wanted to ever have to repeat in the rest of his existence. At least the experience had taught him how he definitely did not want to die. Whenever he could move again, he pushed a knee up under his body, hands stabilizing his torso against the ground. It was a slow process, he definitely didn't like being at this big of a disadvantage. He was aware of the puddle of blood on the floor where his head had been but he didn't have the time to stop to access the damages. It would just have to wait, so unless he bled out on the floor he was going to go down fighting. There was a rustling above his head and he tensed his stomach muscles, if the positions were reversed, he would have started kicking to keep him down. Yet, the kicks never came. The small bit of clear plastic that drifted to the ground confused him, glancing up he noticed a candy in his mouth. How could he possibly be eating? If he thought this was over he was greatly mistaken. He found himself swooning as blood started to trickle down his face from where he had hit the floor, he had lost the vision in that left eye and was sure that it had already turned an angry purple shade of evil.

“Here. It’ll make you feel all better.” Another candy hit the floor but remained in tact. It was white in color and he could only assume it was going to be coconut, while he didn't much care for candy since he had more of a salt tooth he was insulted. Grasping the candy he pulled the clear plastic wrapper off of it and rose to his knees. He could feel his second wind coming as the adrenaline began pumping to help him numb the pain in his head. Rising to his feet his face contorted. He was sure that his normally attractive yet arrogant features disappeared, replaced by something sinister. Glancing from the candy back up the the darkened calm face of the man who had just earlier tried to murder him something deep within him snapped. Ashton had always been a man who enjoyed fighting, he liked testing his brute strength against that of another mans. Ashton had always upheld a strict set of principals. He preferred not to hit a woman, he didn't like to hit an unarmed man and while he had murdered somebody, since that night he hadn't ever wanted to go down that road again, something inside of him had died. He was not one of the lucky few men that could murder and not have a shred of remorse about it. The man that he had killed have more than deserving, he was a monster in human form. He swore that if anybody had needed to die in this lifetime that it had been him. The man in front of him was a ministry official, a Gryffindor prince not to mention the head of his department. He was constantly accusing Ashton of working for the 'Dark Lord' and yet, he wasn't the one who had just tried to commit murder. Funny how things worked out. Things were about to change, he wanted to see an evil man? He could have it.

Lunging toward the man the pair of them fell backwards, once again hitting the floor. Yet this time it was the back of Starvos' head that broke the fall. Grasping the man by the hair he lifted the man's head and slammed it back against the tile floor once more before he had a change to regain his senses, and one final time just for good measure. Taking the sucker that had been tossed at him he pushed the round end, chock full of coconut flavor into Stavros' open mouth. Intent on making him choke on the damn thing, despite any opposition he pushed harder, pushing until he felt resistance. He thought it fitting that blood was starting to drop down the side of his face and onto Tristan's clothing and face, he wanted nothing better than to hurt the man, cause him as much humiliation as he had been forced to endure. He wanted to say something witty and sarcastic, anything to further his small revenge, but he felt like his wind pipe had been compromised, every breath he drew in was ragged and labored. Taking his hand off of the candy he left it in Stavros' mouth and used Tristan's face as a napkin to wipe the blood off of his hand, pushing with far greater force that was necessary. He wished that he could see something, anything that could be used to inflict more permanent damage to his body. A scalpel or some sort of tonic that wasn't meant to be ingested due to it's potent nature, drain cleaner. Anything, but it was just the two of them on the floor. Leaning up right he delivered yet another punch to the man's jaw, his head forced to turn until Ashton's fist glanced off of his skin onto the tile below, his knee pushing into Stavros' gut to steady his body. He hoped that it hurt, given the noise that it was making he could only assume that it did. He wanted to take the fight out of the man.

[Deleted]

There was only one other time in which Tristan had gotten into a fiercely heated altercation as this one with Ashton. It had been back in Greece when he had come home for the summer holiday before his final year at Galaxia. His sister Ioanna had been dating some prat that he had never gotten on with well. One day, she had come home crying, informing the family that he had threatened her. An insane rage had washed over him as he demanded to know where the wanker was. Ioanna had been reluctant to tell him, but eventually gave in after he threatened to smash her precious vanity into smithereens. He had felt bad later about also threatening her and had apologized profusely. Upon finding the prat, Tristan had confronted him. The wanker had gotten up in his face and began insulting his older sister. With every insult and derogatory comment that came from the man’s mouth, Tristan could feel his blood boiling and his hands balling into fists so tightly that his nails begin to cut into his skin. After calling his sister a whore, he had snapped. Tackling the wanker to the ground, Tristan began to pummel him with as much force as he could muster. The sounds of bones breaking and blood gushing hadn’t been enough to stop him. It had taken the muscle of his father and uncle to pull him off the battered man. If they hadn’t been there, he would have undoubtedly killed him. What Ioanna had last told him, he had four cracked ribs, a broken eye socket and lower jaw, three teeth knocked out, a concussion and deforming facial swelling.

Nobody in Austria knew of the dangerous beast that was caged up inside of Tristan Stavros and he preferred it that way. Although his current circumstances proved otherwise, he really didn’t want to fight every time someone upset him. Ashton Wentworth was the only exception to that rule. Something about the wanker’s face just made him want to rearrange it with his fist. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was. There was his crooked smug smile, the pointy nose that resembled muggle’s ideas of a witch and the elongated eyebrows that seemed to have no end. Also, there was his hair. He wished he could aid him in pulling out every strand one by one since Wentworth didn’t seem to have much care for it anyway. Tristan wondered if girls actually found his look attractive. He couldn’t see any reason how. Taking a look down at his badly bruised face, Tristan shook his head. He prayed his toothless nurse wouldn’t be able to reverse the damage he had already done. Biting down on the stick of the sucker he also threw it onto Wentworth’s struggling body. “Why don’t you just stay down?” he asked him, boredly. “It’ll do you much better in the long run mate. It’ll keep you from another ass-whooping like the one I just gave you.” He was always unbelievably cocky after having the upper hand in a fight. Though he did speak those words with truth. His near murder of the prat had given an ample taste of what else Wentworth could expect.

Tristan had only turned his head for a second. Something had caught his eye over in the corner. Expecting to see one of the old healers appear, he was puzzled when he saw nothing. Assuming it to be a speck of dust or some magical enchantment to clean the room, he shrugged it off and turned to look back to see how Wentworth was fairing. He seriously considered giving him a swift kick in the ribs. Instead, he was greeted by the bloody and deformed mess that had once been Ashton’s face. The prat had tackled him backwards, knocking the both of them off the cot and making Tristan’s head land with a loud crack on the floor. An incredible pain instantly blurred his vision again. He felt Wentworth’s hand open his mouth but was so confused by what was going on that he was unable to do anything. Suddenly he felt something behind shoved in his mouth and the taste of coconut. Ashton was trying to choke him with the lollipop he had thrown at him minutes earlier. This was an unexpected bit of karma. He was amazed with how far he managed to force the candy down. Wanting to make a comment about how he was probably used to deep-throating, Tristan found himself coughing at the foreign object in his throat instead. It was blocking his airway causing a very unpleasant mixture of gasping and coughing. He was aware of the warm wetness that was suddenly running down his cheek and dripping into his shirt. Looking up at best as he could, he was disgusted to see that it was Ashton’s blood. He began feeling nauseous. Fearful that he was going to choke on his own vomit Tristan did the best he could to grasp Wentworth’s wrists and pry them away from his face.

Wentworth released them on his own, but left the lollipop stuck in his throat. Not yet finished, the back of his hand dug into his skin as he wiped what Tristan presumed to be even more blood into his skin. He could feel and taste the bile rising up his esophagus. Besides that, he was humiliated. Wiping one’s own blood on his opponent was the ultimate form of humiliation on the other. He was sure that his face must have looked like some strange tribal art. Grabbing the end of the stick Tristan squeezed his eyes in pain as it took a bit of maneuvering to wiggle the thing free. Throwing it as far as he could he could suddenly taste iron. The prat had managed to dig the candy so far down that it had cut the inside of his throat somehow. The taste made him feel even more nauseous. Even though he had removed the lollipop, Tristan found himself still gasping for air. Attributing this to his airway getting used to the oxygen again he did his best not to worry. He looked at Ashton just in time to see him gearing back for a punch. Tristan felt it a second later. He had conveniently managed to hit the same area he had earlier. His teeth grinded together and he was sure that his nurse’s work had just been reversed due to the taste of enamel in his mouth.

Tristan felt helpless as Ashton’s knee went into his gut. He still lacked the ability to breathe properly and the force in which he used knocked the wind out of him again. Using every ounce of strength he had left, he pushed Wentworth off of him. The sound of the man’s body hitting the tile forced Tristan to push himself up. Aware of a sudden lump in his mouth, he spit whatever it was out. A pile of blood formed on the ground from his spitting along with a tooth. He ran his tongue over the spot where one of his back teeth used to be, presumably the one the nurse had fixed. His left arm began itching and he scratched at it. The room was spinning. It would be impossible for him to even attempt to lift himself from the ground. All he wanted to do was lay back and close his eyes but given the high probability that he had a concussion after the fall off of the cot, he knew it wouldn’t have been a good idea. His arm began itching a lot more and he began scratching at it harder. He felt small bumps form on his arm. Puzzled, he attempted to look, but yelled as his head began pulsating at the movement. The itchiness was suddenly on his right arm as well and if he wasn’t hallucinating, his tongue suddenly felt a lot heavier in his mouth, to the point where it was blocking the little bit of air that Tristan was able to breathe in and out. He had never been in this much pain before and it frightened him. What the hell had Wentworth done to him?

Subtle traces of coconut still lingered in his mouth. Tristan froze. The itchiness, the feeling like his throat was closing and his swollen tongue, he knew what was going on. He was having an allergic reaction to the coconut. The last time he had the flavor was back when he was a child. He had stolen a handful of coconut flakes out of a container his mother was using for a pie. Tristan had eaten a few of the flakes before spitting them out in disgust. His mother had scolded him for stealing the flakes, but once realizing his skin was turning red from where he had grabbed the coconut and that he was suddenly coughing, quickly took steps to cure the effect it was having on his body. From then on he had been banned for eating or drinking anything with coconut in it. It was so rare for coconut to even be in the house after that Tristan forgot why he didn’t even like the smell of it. Now, he remembered. His gasping increased and he stared at Ashton with an expression of terror. He was sure the man was confused as to what was going on. That or impressed with himself that he had done such a number on Tristan that he was now dying. If only he knew. Waving his right arm towards the door, he did his best to make any sort of noise. “NURTH! NURTH!” he yelled, continuing to point in the direction of the door. “GE NURTH! GO’DAMT GE NURTH!”

[Ashton Wentworth]

Ashton had been in his share of fights in his life time, he had been in a few mens shares of fights. Granted he was not often the victor, he had picked up a few things. Mostly, they were bar brawls, but sometimes they were just random fights. Occasionally he partook in a duel and he was quiet proficient in transfiguring people and casting jinxes. However, given the option he would choose hand to hand combat any day. Not because he particularly likes being punched in the face, but he did like doing the punching. He liked causing physical damage on another person, it was the best outlet that he had yet to find for venting his anger. Something that he did have and in abundance. Nearly anybody who had spent any time with his at all know that he had a wicked temper. Most people didn't want to be on the wrong end of it. Apparently, whenever Stavros and Ashton got together it was just a much needed stress relief for the both of them, but never before had it turned murderous. He hadn't quiet made up his mind as to how he felt about the whole situation. Stavros seemed paranoid, or like he was seeing things that weren't there. It was strange. Perhaps there was something even more wrong with him than he had originally assumed. Sure he didn't like the prat, and this little feud had been going on for so long that he couldn't even remember why. But he was just too stubborn for his own good, if possible he was even more stubborn than Ashton was himself. Once the jerk had got a thought into his mind that was it, no body could change his mind otherwise, even whenever it was so blatantly wrong. Like the fact that he assumed that Ashton was inherently evil, not to mention working with the Dark Lord. Nothing could be further from the truth, otherwise he wouldn't be here day after day nor working as much outside of the office. He would be in his office or inspecting other peoples work instead of his own.

As he had shoved off of the mans still form and onto the ground beside them, only a bit of stick was still grasped in his hand, he was exhausted. He struggled to get to his feet, falling at least twice in the process. His vision was blurring as the pain in his head and lungs started to return. His adrenaline rush was gone. Pushing off of his knees and to a standing position he took a couple steps away, longing to smoke to ease some of his internal tension. The wheezing for air coming from Tristan's direction was like music to his ears. It matched his own heavily labored breathing. His throat was no doubt starting to turn a nasty shade of purple to match the rest of his face, hopefully the little old healing witches would be able to really fix him up. It was really wonderful what all magic could do, he was constantly amazed by the extent of it's grasp, and even more astounded by it's limitations. Grasping at his chest he grimaced as he tried to force more oxygen to fill his depraved lungs. It was hard to swallow, but nothing compared to the sounds that were coming from Stavros. Stumbling over his own feet once he caught his balance, turning to look at Stavros. He watched with amusement out of his one good eye as more blood was added to the pile that he had started. Good. He wanted him to really hurt, his body was giving out on him and he doubted that he would be able to land many more punches with much enthusiasm, so he hoped that they were done, his pride wouldn't let him give up without at least causing some form of tie. As of this very moment, it was all that he was physically able to do to stand steady on his feet. Stavros was writhing on the ground, Ash couldn't even be bothered to offer him a hand up, he just wanted to walk away, crawl into a bottle of Walker and live there for a good few hours at least. Yet, he was rooted to the spot.

There was something different in the way that Stavros was moving, he was scratching at himself like a fool. His face was confused, then it hit him. He was gasping for air, unless that sucker was still lodged deep in his airway, he was having an allergic reaction. He couldn't help but smile. Well this was interesting indeed, he found himself in a unique position. He watched as Tristan's face begun to turn red and swell. He seemed to be having trouble breathing, it appears that he was suffocating on his own tongue. Good. At least now they would be even, he didn't move. Even if he had wanted to (which he didn't) his feet were glued to the ground. His arms hung limp at his sides, hands relaxed. His face became blank, and eerie calm washed over his body as he stared at Tristan's face. Good to know that Tristan did have one weakness. He was allergic to coconut, even coconut flavoring it seemed. The terror in Stavros' eyes only caused the madness coursing through his veins to intensify. He wondered exactly how long it would be until his air way shut off completely, would he pass out first? Were his eyes going to bulge out of his head and he would start to resemble a frog, it was interesting to contemplate. His speech was impaired, his skin starting to lose color everywhere but his face, which was rapidly turning from Scarlet to a light shade of purple and then blue as the blood was losing its oxygen factor. “NURTH! NURTH!” a smile slowly started to spread about his face. If he did nothing, he would get to watch his nemesis die. Funny how the roles were reversed only a moment ago. He was the one turning colors and gasping for air, he didn't even have to do anything. There was no doubt in his mind that given the change, if Ashton were the one choking on his own body, that Tristan would leave him to die, just step over his body and move out of the nurses station, no doubt return to his paperwork like nothing at all had happened. Luckily for him, Ashton didn't put too much stock in murder. He wasn't the cold blooded type, contrary to popular belief. He just wanted to watch him suffer for a moment longer. “GE NURTH! GO’DAMT GE NURTH!” He was becoming frantic now, his life passing before his eyes no doubt. The power to control his life rested in Ashton's hands. His smile grew as he shoved his bloody and bruised hand into his pockets. He lingered, he wanted Tristan to know that he could let his die, that he was going to severely owe him, since he had attempted to kill Ashton only moments later. Slowly, he turned on his heel and sauntered in the direction that he imagined the old witches to be.

He was thankful the one that had taken care of him was the first one that he found, and not the one who worshiped Stavros, he didn't need that on top of everything else. Quickly and feigning concern he pulled the witch along with him, mumbling something about allergic reaction, that he was thrashing about like mad, as if that was going to explain the amount of damage that had been done to their station, no way was she going to believe that Tristan had done all of that by himself. While it was probably best for him to just bow out quietly at this point he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away. The healer witch moving her hands about Tristan's cold body. She seemed panicked which must mean that Tristan was really in a bad state, good. Hopefully she would leave him with some marks, like she had left on his face. Once she was done with Stavros he hoped that she would wave her wand a few times at him, the blood was still seeming out of his face and he was starting to feel horribly woozy. His eye was still swollen shut and starting to pulse the pressure that was mounting in his head was horrible. Resigning himself to the one cot that hadn't been knocked over he grabbed a stray cloth bandage that they had spillt and pressed it to his head, yelping softly in pain as it hit the broken skin. No doubt it was already starting to turn a nasty shade of crimson, he could feel his fingers sticking to the blood, and it was definitely going to hurt more than a little once it was pulled off against but he didn't want to lose too much more blood. No way was he going to bleed to death while she was attending to Tristan. Worse way to go than to be murdered. His vision was starting to blur as he fought off bouts of unconsciousness. The witch was still fussing over Tristan so he leaned into the cot, propping himself up on his free elbow he waited for his turn. Very much wishing he was still pounding the mans face into the now stained tile.

[Deleted]

Tristan had never been close to death before, but he was certain that this was what it felt like. His vision was blurring rapidly. Everything in the room was now blobs. He looked in the direction of where he thought Ashton was. A dark mass was perched a few feet away, not moving. He groaned. The oxygen in his body was becoming more constricted as his throat closed tighter. His tongue was a dead weight in his mouth causing him to be unable to keep his head lifted up. Tristan’s head bounced up and down as he tried to prevent himself from losing consciousness. The itch in his arms was growing worse. He was a mess. A loud ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing any other sound in the room so he was unsure if Wentworth was still in here or not. “WHAWORF,” he tried calling to the man again, “NURF…PLEA NURF.” He didn’t care how stupid he sounded. If Wentworth didn’t get the healers, then he’d be dead for sure within the next few minutes. Tristan tried to be angry, but the thought of death was far more important. Though he did know one thing. If Wentworth allowed him to die on the floor of a medical suite in the Ministry of Magic, then he was going to do everything in his power to come back as a ghost and haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. If the man thought he was bad now, he hadn’t seen anything yet. The ringing was getting louder and his breathing was now short gasps for air. Darkness was overcoming his vision. Tristan felt his body swaying and a few seconds later, it fell back on the floor with a loud thud.

He saw a white light a distance away from him. Puzzled, he began to walk towards it. As he did, memories of earlier times began to show themselves on the sides of the darkened hallway. Tristan saw the moment he had gotten his first broomstick from his father. There was his first Quidditch game and his first save. Birthdays passed by. Family portraits. Beating up the prick that had threatened Ioanna. His graduation from Galaxia and from Auror training. He even saw his last moments ever in his office at the Ministry, fighting with Wentworth and the two of them crashing through the door. Looking down at himself, Tristan noticed that his attire had changed. He was no longer in his business wear required for the Ministry. A casual shirt and pair of jeans rested on his frame. What the hell was going on? He strangely kept walking to the light which grew brighter as he got closer. Tristan wanted to stop, but his legs kept moving. He opened his mouth to yell but no sound came out. He was frightened beyond belief. The memories that kept playing off to the sides were beginning to click in his mind. Them, the light, the silence and his change in clothes, Tristan was dying. The reason he kept walking was because he was going to die as soon as he reached the light. It was now mere inches away.

Suddenly he heard echoes come from around him. They sounded like women’s voices. His legs stopped moving and he remained stuck in place as he looked around him. The darkness was fading and the light was moving away from him. Tristan wasn’t sure if he had died, but the voices were becoming more apparent and louder. ”Get the needle! Now!” Needle? What needle? He didn’t like needles. A second went by and he felt a sharp pain in his chest. Tristan’s hand flew to the spot. A gust of oxygen overcame him and he began coughing. As he did so, the darkness faded away completely and he found himself staring up into the smiling faces of the two Healers that had taken care of him and Wentworth. His eyes were still swollen into small slits, but his vision had improved dramatically. His tongue didn’t feel so heavy anymore either and his arms were completely itch-free. Tristan’s chest heaved in and out quickly as he continued to cough, but he knew it was just his lungs getting used to the oxygen again. He heard a noise off into the distance, probably Wentworth, but kept his attention focused on the nurses in front of him. ”What’s your name honey?” Clearing his throat, he let out a raspy, “Tristan.” Clicking their tongues in approval, the nurses grinned. ”And where do you work?” Another raspy, “Ministry of Magic.” The one that had taken care of him, Matilda, clapped her hands in excitement. ”Wonderful! We got to him just in the nick of time. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Wentworth, the lack of oxygen to his brain may have caused damage.” So Ashton had pulled through after all.

Tristan felt his body being lifted, with some struggle from the two witches. He wondered where they were taking him, but his focus was on the man watching him from a perched position on one of the cots. At that moment, he wished he had been able to die. There was no smug look on Wentworth’s face, but the two both knew that he had just saved Tristan’s life. Groaning again, he forced himself to turn his head forward and look downward. This was something the prat would never let him live down. Grateful as he was for getting the chance to live, it was almost not worth it knowing that Wentworth would hold the debt over his head for a very long time. He failed to acknowledge the fact that the man had some ounce of moral fiber in his body. Instead, he decided that he had simply let him live to hold this monstrosity over him for as long as he possibly could. Tristan was taken out of the room into another one a few doors down. From there, the nurses laid him down on one of the cots and set to work on healing his wounds. He was still out of it, but was very much aware of the inappropriate places being grazed. “Quit it,” he said, swatting at air to make them stop touching him. He heard them huff, but they continued to work on him, even if their touch had a little more force behind it now then care. When they had gotten to his head, Tristan closed his eyes. The pain was alleviating slowly but surely.

It was then that he was reminded of Wentworth by himself in the other room. Smirking, he opened his eyes back up. He loved getting the preferential treatment in medical wards. Loved it. Raising his hand up in the air, he motioned towards the door. Although he would have loved for nothing more than Wentworth to slip into a coma, Tristan owed him for what he had done. It was hopeful wishing, but maybe he would use this as his form of payment for doing the same earlier. Probably not though. “He needs one of you in there,” he said, his voice almost sounding as it usually did. The nurses argued over which one would have to leave his side. “One of you just go.” Huffing, Henrietta, thankfully the one that had healed Ashton earlier stomped out of the room and down the hallway. ”Mr. Stavros asked me to come down here and make sure you were alright.” He heard her yelling as she drew the curtains by the door closed. ”Let’s get you patched up.” Tristan could hear the disappointment in her voice. Smirking again, he looked at his nurse before closing his eyes. “Have at it.” Opening his eyes briefly, he pointed a firm finger in her direction. “But I swear to Merlin. If you do anything other than what you are supposed to, I will yell ‘Rape’.” It was the only defense he had against the lust-stricken old woman.

[Ashton Wentworth]

The cot sagged in the middle. For some reason, it was the only thing that he could think of. Perhaps it was because his head was past the throbbing stage, and there was blood from his head oozing out of the hole Tristan had knocked into it and seeping down his neck and onto his shirt. His hair was matted down in parts from sweat and where the blood had travelled to. He could smell nothing but copper, he refused to die. He refused to succumb to the unconsciousness that was tugging had his vision, causing the room to go black every few moments. He could hear footsteps, he knew that people were coming but he didn’t know who or why. It seemed that in his haze he had forgotten just about everything, including who he was and why he was here. It was most unsettling. He didn’t like not knowing, his whole body was on alert. Every inch of his frame hurt and his one good eye was starting to roll into the back of his head. He could hear voices, but he didn’t know if they were inside or outside of his head. He didn’t want to lay down for fear of losing even more blood, which meant that he was stuck just sitting here, wobbling around on this sagging cot. He wanted to lift his hand to test the damage, he really wanted to see a mirror to see how bad it was first hand, if only his vision would hold still, and the room would stop spinning. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to get the world to stop spinning, the darkness was coming in one him, he felt like he was literally and figuratively circling a drain. He didn’t much care for this slow slipping into death, now he knew, that he would much rather go by the way of an unforgiveable curse, at least then it would be quick and painless. Or at least, that was how he assumed it was. Obviously there was nobody around who could say otherwise. It certainly looked quick enough, just a flash and the life drained out of their eyes. The glassy eyes of a dead man were not something that was easily forgotten. One blink was all it took, exhaustion, blood loss and fear overcome him all at once, his body fell backwards, once more hitting the ground had had been previously stained with his blood, the still open wound on his head pouring little spatters of more into the puddle every few moments, he doubted that there was much blood left in his body.

The darkness that enveloped his was warm, he could hear voices, but they were no longer inside of his head, it was like all of the people that he had ever loved were calling to him, urging him to go back. Back where they didn’t say, but it was something that they had adamantly wanted more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. There was a chain strapped to his ankle he very much wanted to run to them, to tell him that he would rather stay, with them where it was warm. Like microwaved velvet was coursing through his veins. Like the feeling that he got whenever he indulged in a bottle of particularly old scotch. He didn’t want to leave but the ball and chain were keeping him rooted, he couldn’t even take a step that didn’t lead him back into circles. As the gates ahead of him closed, the lock on them looked remarkably like a certain Greek face. He was suddenly filled with rage and anguish. The wounds that he had on his body started all seeping at once, he was forced to watch in his mind’s eye as he died at the hands of Tristan Stavros, as the man stood over him, watching as he slowly bled to death on the ground of the nurses’ station in the ministry. He could feel his body shaking, all the muscles in his body started to convulse at once, he was having a seizure from the lack of blood in his body. All of his limbs were drained to a ghost white. The little blood that appeared to be in his body seemed to have gathered again in his eye and jaw. His knuckles were also a nice shade of purple. He could feel something dripping onto his head as somebody hovering over him was muttering some words in a strange language. He wouldn’t realize until he was fully conscious that they were casting spells on him, dumping fluid after fluid down his throat. One to replenish his blood, dittany on his head and eye, down his throat to heal the organs that had been bruised in their scrape. There was a fire burning from his mouth to his stomach, whatever it was tasted foul, he was obviously not handling it very well. He only hoped that he wasn’t in a place where Tristan could see him, convulsing like this was embarrassing, yet his body wouldn’t stop. He had never been out of control before and he wasn’t sure exactly how he liked it. The burning didn’t want to stop, it was spreading over his whole body, down his legs and to his toes, up to his shoulders and down his arms to his fingers. Every single inch of him burned. His body was not his own, the throat that emitted a low scream was not his own. He had no idea what they were doing to him, but he wanted to beg them to stop. Anything had to be better than this; there was no reason for it. He would later find out that he had been forced to duplicate all of his blood, which was the cause of the burning, the witch had used something else to patch the hole in his head shut once more and a few spells to reduce the swelling in his eye and restore his vision, he would have some green spots on his skin for a couple of days but he would be fit as a fiddle so long as he could leave well enough alone.

It was times like these that he really was lucky that he wasn’t a muggle, for if he had been born a muggle, this would have been the day that he died. Assuming that of course the events had played out the same on some sort of wizarding territory. He had passed out again from the burning for a short while, little did he know that Henrietta was thankful for his lack of consciousness, it had proved to make her job all the more simple. It didn’t take long for her to fix him up as best as she could, throw some bandages around his knuckles, scold him under her breath and go bustling about to look for Tristan again, he was attractive too, and obviously in this scenario he was the hero, why wouldn’t he get the special treatment even once? Whenever he awoke the second time he struggled to sit, still in the same damned sagging cot. He could see his blood tainting the white fabric, littering the floor with far more of his DNA. Grimacing he could only imagine what was going on wherever they were keeping Stavros. It took a few moments before what had happened came back to him fully. He couldn’t remember the healing bits, but he could still remember the fight, and best of all he could still remember choosing to let Stavros live. He should be allowed a bit of healing for a while to come because of that fact. He wanted to stand, but gave it a couple more minutes, he could hear elderly giggling not too far from here, as well as cries of protest, it was possible that he just might get the chance to save Stavros twice in one day. Easing to his feet Ashton kept his arms out to his sides as that he wouldn’t lose his balance. Smiling whenever he didn’t even wobble he made his way toward the sound of the voices. Folding his arms across his chest he smirked at the one toothed lady attempted to do, something to Tristan. Clearing his throat loudly he smirked. “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”

[Deleted]

Tristan had a feeling that it was taking longer than necessary to get him mended up. Though he had given Matilda a warning, it seemed to have gone to closed ears. He had never felt so uncomfortable in his life. He was feeling such unease that he nearly wished for his near-death experience again. Groaning as she messaged his head a little too affectionately he attempted to slap her hand away. ”It’s the medicine dear. You must let it work.” She wasn’t even making attempts at good excuses anymore. She had made his head feel considerably less cracked. He was certain though that he had sustained a concussion as a result of being tackled off of his cot earlier. He still had an extreme sensitivity to the bright lights of the room he was brought to, which despite the efforts of his Healer, continued to make his head throb whenever he stared longer than a second. He was also still incredibly fatigued. Tristan knew his body well enough to know when it had finally had enough. It had finally had enough. Even if he wanted to march back into Wentworth’s room and beat the life out of him, he wouldn’t have been able to. The amount of strength it took to lift up his arm and slap away Matilda’s leathery hand made him feel as if he had just ran the entire length of the Quidditch pitch at Ilfracombe. He was a sad excuse for a man, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The fact that Wentworth had put him in this state was infuriating. If he hadn’t found his kryptonite, then the two would probably still be at each other’s throats in the room down the hall. The two were equals when it came to fighting. One could dish what they gave as well as the other. Tristan was unaware of the damage he had inflicted on Ashton’s pathetic excuse for a body, but he prayed that he was suffering just as much as he was. From the times they had fought before the man had always managed to keep up with him. Even when Tristan had the upper hand Wentworth still found a way to come back, like he was harboring all of his unused ammunition for the perfect time. He wondered how he was going to be able to work in the same building with someone he hated so damn much. After all, their hatred was so strong for one another that they risked their jobs by fighting and in the presence of several witnesses. He wanted to blame it all on the testosterone. He knew it was impossible to fully blame his insistence to fight on that alone. Tristan was convinced that Ashton was up to no good and had been ever since the two had first crossed paths. Knowing that he would be working for the good side with the government had made something snap within him. He had no idea how the man had done it, but he had every intention on finding out, whenever the punishment they would inevitably receive would be lifted.

He had asked his Healer a few minutes earlier if she knew anything about Wentworth’s current state, but she was too busy admiring his biceps to answer. His luck with anything medical had its disadvantages sometimes. To his displeasure, the sound of footsteps entered the room. Tristan attempted to lift his head, but cursed out in pain as he did so. Every reminder of his temporarily state of weakness cut him deeply. He could only pray that it was not Wentworth who had joined them in the room. He would be helpless to the little belittlement and snarky remarks that’d come from his obnoxiously large mouth. Fortunately and unfortunately, it was the other Healer. There was still a strange ringing in his ears, continuing to confirm a concussion, but he thought he could make out that Wentworth had been fixed up and that she had slapped him in the back of his head while he was unconscious as a way to punish him for what he had done to him. The comment had caused a chuckle to come from him and he could see Henrietta beaming at him. All of a sudden Tristan’s eyelids began to feel heavy. He wasn’t sure if it was the lights or the nauseating perfume that was radiating from the new arrival, but they were dropping over his vision quickly. The last thing he heard before sleep washed over him was the sound of very inappropriate giggling.

It was the same sound that stirred him sometime later. Groaning, Tristan opened his eyes to see the two nurses staring at him. It took a second, but he also noticed that his legs felt cold. Tilting his head lightly to abstain from anymore pain he looked down and noticed his legs were bare. He was in his boxers, but that had not been the state he had left himself in. His eyes bulged open. ”I’m not interrupting anything am I?” His gaze quickly shifted to the door. Wentworth stood there, smirking. Tristan had never felt as vulnerable as he did now. He was thankful that the nurses had at least left his shirt on though now that he thought about it there was button or two undone from his collared shirt. “Get off of me!” he yelled, causing the two witches to jump back. He forced himself to sit up. The room was still spinning, but not nearly as bad as it was earlier. “Honestly, taking advantage of a patient? Ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” The nurses looked anything but. However, they did take the cue and scampered out the door, leaving the two men alone in the room. He had no desire to know what they were about to do to him if he hadn’t woken up.

Turning his attention back to Wentworth, Tristan pulled himself up and off of the cot. “I’m sure you get off by seeing me like this, but I’ll ask you to keep your tongue in your mouth. I don’t roll that way.” Even though the two had nearly killed each other he was still full of snide comments. He found his jeans lying on the other side of the cot. How the two witches managed to get them off of him in the first place without him even feeling anything was terrifying. Sliding a leg into each hole Tristan pulled his jeans up, zipped and them button them. At least he didn’t feel so insignificant now. Rolling his sleeves back up to his elbows, he looked to Wentworth. “What do you want? Look, take it as you will, but I think enough damage to ourselves and our bloody jobs has been done today. I’ve worked too hard to let some prat like you come in and ruin everything for me.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

This display that he had walked in onto was just embarrassing. It sickened him at how interested these women were in the blond dolt, and how he seemed to be relishing in the attention. There was no doubt that if he hadn’t walked in, Stavros might have become far too comfortable with them around, he was saving the boy yet again, or maybe he was saving the older women, he wasn’t sure who was really the victim in this particular situation. His eyebrow arched, and he waited to see what excuse he was going to try to come up with. He hated to admit it, but he could still taste the lingering traces of copper, while his skin was on the mend, the fabric burns across his neck hadn’t been threatening enough to mend, he could still feel everything, even if the pain was dulled by whatever tonic the woman had forced him to endure, the sting had ebbed, but the shame was still present in his stance. He could feel the strain in his lungs, the pressure every time he swallowed to remove the excess saliva from his mouth he could feel it, rubbing his hand against the outside of his neck, it seemed that the pair had finally left lasting scars on one another, their marks had been made and while they may not be visible, there was no doubt in his mind that every future encounter, every harsh word from this point on was going to be used to constantly get the upper hand, he knew that he was going to remember what it felt like to almost die every time.

“Get off of me!” His smirk grew even more smug, holding up one hand he motioned for the ladies to stay, and he waved the same hand over his shoulder “I can leave you to attend to your business” He teased, it was apparent from the looks that the healers were giving him that it was exactly what they wanted him to do. Given by the state of Tristan, hair even more ruffled than before, pants missing, shirt undone, and what looked like lipstick imprints on his forehead and neck. He wanted to laugh, but the state of his windpipe wouldn’t permit more than some raspy words. His voice was naturally deep, but the fact that his vocal chords were compromised were not helping things, it was deeper, huskier than normal. . “Honestly, taking advantage of a patient? Ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” He watched as the man moved, Ashton wanted to be ready for anything, he knew that Tristan had gotten far superior medical care, but didn’t know exactly how spry the man was feeling, there was no way that he would be able to do anything more than to bring his hands to cover his face, curl into a ball and wait for it to be over, as humiliating as the thought was, he had taken quiet the beating. He took comfort in knowing that he had given just as good as he had got, he hoped anyway. The beam that he now leaned up against did wonders for his stability, without it he would have been forced to sit on the cot, and he was in no mood to be caught sitting next to his rival for even a second.

“I’m sure you get off by seeing me like this, but I’ll ask you to keep your tongue in your mouth. I don’t roll that way.” Never stopped “Even if I did, I would be out of your league” it was a horrible come back, that he was aware of, but his head had taken a major blow and he would blame whatever came out of his mouth on that alone. The prospect of having to go back to work after this loomed over his head, it was certainly not appealing, having to explain this to his boss, how he had managed to almost die, and to almost kill a man on his first day on the job was not going to instill a whole lot of confidence, unless he could showcase his hand to hand combat. Yet, it didn’t seem possible to turn this into a positive experience. “What do you want? Look, take it as you will, but I think enough damage to ourselves and our bloody jobs has been done today. I’ve worked too hard to let some prat like you come in and ruin everything for me.” That much, they could agree on, he had been working to damn hard for too damn long to wash it all away in a day. He just hoped that the healers wouldn’t rat them out. Somebody was sure to hear their little fight, but he hoped nobody came around asking questions. He didn’t want to answer them even if they did. Folding his arms across his chest he glanced down at the hand his healer seemed to have forgotten about, still slightly swollen and turning a ugly shade of purple. Flexing his fingers to test the dexterity, he balled them back into a fist and squared his shoulders, lifting his gaze back to Stavros, making no movement to come any closer or be overly intimidating, he just wanted to make sure that they were clear. “I just wanted to make sure you don’t forget what happened here today” His eyes impressing the point that he had allowed Tristan to live, that he was considering himself the victor, even if there was no clear winner. It was his one and only victory, he was going to relish whatever he could. “Or how things could have turned out”

[Deleted]

”I just wanted to make sure you don’t forget what happened here today.” Tristan doubted he could even if he wanted to. Though that didn’t stop him from hearing the sound of his knuckles crack as he balled his right hand up into a fist. Wentworth would never let him live this down. He relaxed his hand and shook it. They were compromising for the day. If he absolutely needed to fight, he would, but he’d rather not. Simply standing up now was making the room spin. He placed the palm of his hand on his forehead to try and stabilize himself. “Or how things could have turned out.” Tristan glared over in Ashton’s direction. He had never hated a man as much in his life as he did Wentworth. The very sound of his voice made his skin crawl. Any time he looked upon his face he wanted to punch it. And keep punching at it until every bone in it was broken and caved in. The man drove him insane, pushed him to limits that Tristan didn’t even think he had. By Wentworth’s mere presence in the room he felt like he was going to black out and unleash some inner demon that’d rip Ashton into shreds. He wouldn’t have minded, but it’d be one hell of a story to try to explain to Rutherford and the other dingbats a floor or two above them. Besides the murder charge, he’d be canned for sure. As much as it displeasured him, his job was one of the only things he had going for him.

Chuckling to himself, he lowered his hand and began buttoning up the buttons on his shirt he recently discovered where unbuttoned. Bloody wenches. This was the first and last time he’d ever come down to the medical ward. Even if he and Wentworth had the balls to go at it again in their work place, he’d demand to get treatment at Everdines. He refused to have those leathery hands even seven feet away from him. Tristan cringed as he thought about waking up the way he had earlier. “I appreciate your concern for my well being and memory Wentworth, but rest assured, unfortunately I won’t.” As he finished buttoning up his shirt, he pulled at his collar to straighten it out, and then laid it flat once satisfied. “With that said,” he continued, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, “I hope you don’t forget either. I commend you for being able to fool all these bastards for as long as you have. I’m sure your master must be very proud.” He finished adjusting his sleeves and made his way to a mirror by a sink full of medical supplies. As his eyes landed on a jar of suckers he shivered. “Your luck is going to run out soon though Wentworth. Mark my words.” Tristan ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it up. Then again, he could probably douse it in water and it will still look better than the plant life atop Ashton’s. He looked over at him before finishing. “You’re gonna get yours sooner than you think.” As soon as he finished flattening the right side of his hair he raised himself back up and walked over to Wentworth, standing in front of him upon stopping.

He grinned as his eyes landed on the marks from the makeshift noose he had constructed for him earlier. “Nice marks you got there. Shame they couldn’t do anything to fix them,” he teased, fighting the urge to flick him in the nose. “I got your number.” With that, he forcefully pushed his way past Ashton and down the hall to the entrance of the medical ward. Rutherford conveniently walked in as he was walking out. ”All fixed up Mr. Stavros? I’m afraid we’re going to need to speak about punishment for your and Mr. Wentworth’s behavior.” He knew it wasn’t a good idea, but he ignored the man and trudged on towards the lifts. If he was forced to stay in the ward any longer with Wentworth in the vicinity then he would be unable to guarantee the two wouldn’t find some way to go at it again. It’d be an embarrassing show. He imagined the two of them looking like they were fighting in slow motion instead of real time. Tristan tried not to fight unless he was able to put his all into every punch. Stopping at the lift, he pushed the button for his floor, focusing his attention on the dwindling numbers on top of him. He wondered what Rutherford was going to say when he saw Wentworth. With any luck, he’d admire his hand-to-hand combat skills and make a note to look over his resume again. Then again, Wentworth was in the picture now and he was sure to do everything he could to make sure his name wasn’t even considered for a raise. His jaw tightened as the numbers continued counting down. It bothered him to no end that all of the hard work he had accomplished was put in jeopardy by Ashton’s arrival. Tristan had an idea of what he was capable of and that didn’t make things anymore optimistic.

Sighing in relief as the buzzer finally sounded, Tristan stepped into the lift as the doors opened. He had no idea what he was going to do to expose the dirty work Wentworth was doing behind closed doors, but he was going to find a way no matter what it took. It would probably serve the Ministry right for being thick enough to not have done a thorough background check on the prat, but he was only in it for selfish reasons. Not only do finally put Wentworth in his place once and for all, but also to have his name finally stand out from the others. To be given his place on the exclusive Auror. Hell, he might even shoot for a department head since he already had the experience. The wheels in his head were turning and there would be no stopping them until Tristan got what he wanted. The lift stopped and he stepped out, avoiding the overly curious stares from his co-workers. He walked straight to Madeline’s desk and placed his hands on the edge, lowering himself to her level. “I don’t want any calls or visitors unless its Rutherford.” Since they both knew what happened when he had visitors earlier. “Clear?” She nodded and he walked back towards his office. His door had already been fixed, but that bloody nameplate hadn’t. Frustrated, Tristan walked into his office and slammed the door shut behind him. It looked spotless, like a vicious brawl hadn’t taken place only two hours earlier. He took his seat and leaned back, covering his face with his hands. The papers that were once littering the floor now littered his desk top. It was going to take him hours to figure out where everything went.

Tristan moved his hands to the back of his head and interlocked them. Looking around his office, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was still heated from him and Ashton’s go around so he doubted he’d be able to focus enough to get any work done. A sheet of paper raised slightly from his desktop caught his attention and he leaned forward to inspect it. Upon doing so, a huge smile formed on his face. It was Wentworth’s wand. He ran the stick of wood through his fingers, contemplating the leverage he had over his enemy. One thing was for certain, if he expected it back, he’d have to send Rutherford to come get it because he’d refuse to give it back to him otherwise. Letting his natural inhibitions take over, he grasped the stick with both hands and brought it over his knee. There were still pieces of wood left over from their fight sticking out of his trash can. It’d be easy to say his wand had been damaged in the mix. Just as he was about to break it something prevented him from doing so. Frowning, Tristan threw the wood off to the side. Like it or not, the prat had saved his life. He deserved one bit of decency on his part, regardless of whether or not he was aware of his wand being saved. Frustrated with his gesture of kindness, he pulled his chair into the desk and grabbed the first stack of piles in his way. He was going to have to start somewhere and force himself to do what needed to be done so he could get out at a normal time.