[chelsea] i will always land on you like a sucker punch - john

Donnie staggered away from Grimli, the sound of cheers still ringing in his ears. Or were his ears just still ringing from the repeated blows to the head he'd suffered? Eh, sod it. What did it matter, anyway? He'd won all three fights, even the last one which the bosses almost didn't let him compete in after the first two had left him unconscious for a spell longer than anyone thought healthy. But Donnie was a big boy, he could crawl back into the ring if he wanted to. Medics patched him up a bit then he went back into the ring to lay flat a punk who couldn't have seen more than a year of life past Hogwarts, or whatever school he swaggered out of. Thought he was all hot, coming to Grimli and taking on a man twice his age and two fights in. Showed him, didn't he? Showed them all. Showed her he didn't need no one to coddle him and keep him together. Not that she was anywhere near Grimli. Probably off buggering some boy like the one he'd beat the piss out of of a few hours ago.

Winning had brought money and several rounds of drinks. Which was good, because Donnie needed the alcohol to numb the pain enough for him to make it all the way to his cousin's place. He was in too much pain to Apparate, and he had several injuries, including a dislocated shoulder, that would need the attention of a healer of some quality. But quality healers cost money and asked inconvenient questions, so he'd settle for harassing his cousin at three in the God-forsaken morning. He'd understand. Merlin knew that Donnie had done more than a few turns for his dear cousin, so this was just calling in some favors owed. And it wasn't like he was asking him for anything illicit, just a patch-up job enough to get him to work in the morning.

Ugh, why did his cousin have to live so bloody far from every place sensible? An eternity later, he was standing at the door to John's place. He raised his good fist and banged three times on the door, then twice, then three times again. It was their knock pattern, the one they'd used when playing games as kids, and annoyed each other with as adults. John would know it was him. Donnie waited patiently until the door opened. He was drunk, but he still didn't want to get his dear cousin in trouble with his neighbors.

"Hallo, cousin o' mine," he drawled. His accent was particularly thick when he was drunk and in pain, both of which were in full effect at the moment. Donnie was a sight: a black eye, split lip, purple bruise on his left temple, and what was probably a broken nose. And those where the visible injuries. There was also his dislocated shoulder and a few cracked ribs to add to his account. His grin was almost manic, his eyes overbright. It had been a while since his cousin would have seen him so out of control. Not since his girlfriend Hanaleigh had been killed. "Care ta help out ah poor sinner in need of ah little healer's mercy?"

@John Lennox

John was asleep. Well, he had been asleep, until he heard the knocking at the door. In his daze, he barely recognized his and Donnie’s playful, secret knock. He checked the clock, which read 3:23 a.m., and carefully wrapped his robe around himself. Who could be knocking at this hour and what did they want? He was drowsy, but worried. Usually a late night visit meant bad news. His last late night visit had been Julia having an overdose on his front porch. His TV was humming in the background and he turned it off as he passed by, feeling dread rise in his stomach as he became more awake.

He looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Donnie there, especially in that state. He opened the door quickly. “Donnie….” He began, looking him over. He looked like he’d been through the ringer a few times. He certainly needed a doctor. Luckily, John was one. “You look like hell.” He said, finally. “Come on in.” He tightened his robe again and decided he needed some pants on.

“Sit down on the couch while I put some clothes on, then I can take a look at you. I’ll get you some water, too. You need it.” He quickly went into his bedroom and put on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before coming back out with a towel for all of the blood and a bottle of expensive water. “What happened?” He wondered if Donnie had been jumped or something. “Do you need me to call the law enforcement squad? Were you jumped?”

He could see his broken nose—that would be tricky. He would probably need nose correction, and John didn’t specialize in cosmetic surgery. He could mend the bones, but straitening it back out wasn’t his forte. He would try, though. His split lip, his bruises. From the way Donnie walked it seemed like there was more that he couldn’t see. “I hope the other guy looks worse than you.” He teased.

“Let’s start with the nose.” He cast a charm to mend the bones, and took several minutes trying to straighten them out. He did a decent job, but if Donnie wanted to look perfect, he’d probably need a cosmetic specialist. The bruises and split lip were easy to heal. “Take off your shirt. Where else does it hurt?” He asked.

John had only ever seen Donnie like this once before, and that was just after his girlfriend passed away. He didn’t know if Donnie was seeing anyone or not, but he wondered what brought him down this path again. He figured he would deal with Donnie’s emotional bruises after his physical ones.

Donnie slumped against his cousin's door frame, glad to see him. He liked John. They'd been through tough times together. It had been John who'd kept him among the living after Hana was killed, had put him back together and reminded him that his girl would kick his ass in the next life if he left it like a pansy. And it had been Donnie up late nights with John after the divorce, keeping him company and drinking Irish whiskey until the wee hours of the morning. In some ways, John was more like a brother than just a cousin. Donnie cared for him and respected him. He trusted him, too, which unfortunately for John meant emergency visits at ungodly hours.

He followed the healer's orders and crumpled down onto the couch, leaning his head back and staring up at John's completely unremarkable ceiling. "Ceilings are ah highly underrated part ofa room," he mused as John made himself decent. "Gonna check all my ceilings when I get home. Make sure they're architecturally interesting." This would probably make no sense later and to John it likely didn't make any sense in the moment either. Donnie smiled at John's concern. "Nah, mate. No need fer the bobbies. Just a friendly sparing match down at Grimli's. No need ta get anyone official involved." Donnie would never hear the end of it if he caused an honest investigation into the club's activities.

"You should see 'em. All three of 'em," he slurred, holding up three fingers, one of which was clearly swelling, probably broken or at least sprained. "Second one knock me out fer a few minutes. Probably a concussion. Part of tha reason I didna want ta apparate. Splinch myself fer certain." As John cast spells to put Donnie back together, he tried to let his mind drift past the pain. He was only mildly successful. The cartilage in his nose made a hideous grinding noise as it shifted back into place like two landmasses colliding. He did sigh with relief as the building pressure of his bruise was eased and his split lip healed.

He carefully pulled off his shirt, one arm unresponsive at his side. "Dislocated shoulder," he gritted out between clenched teeth. "Cracked ribs, at leas two on ma left side. General bruising. Ya know how it goes." Donnie shrugged. He was kind of glad that Joh  had refrained from asking him any intimate questions as of yet. He would need a bit to collect his thoughts. He had to explain to his cousin why he'd pushed so hard. Donnie could hardly tell him it was to knock the memory of a certain female, one who was clearly not interested in him, from his thick head.

Dislocated shoulder. John deduced before Donnie mentioned anything. Cracked ribs. Bruising. Someone had really done a number on Donnie, and this was only what he could see. He couldn't tell if he was delirious from a possible concussion or if  he was really really drunk, but both seemed the most likely. Unfortunately, the easiest way to fix a dislocated shoulder was....

“This is going to hurt like a bitch, Donnie.” John warned, before moving the dislocated shoulder back into the socket and, with some force, popping it back in. His hands moved down Donnie's chest, feeling for the cracked bones. Usually he'd get an x-ray or something so he could see what he was working with, but he wasn't in his office, so he would just have to make due with what he could feel. There were three cracked ribs on the left side he could tell. He had to handle Donnie much more than he would a usual patient, and with less to relieve the pain.

He managed to repair the ribs, though, and the  bruising. He went about focusing on the concussion after that. He would usually tell him to take a few pills for the headache, but he didn't want to mix pills with alcohol, so instead he  did an array of tests, checking his hearing, vision, and reflexes. Donnie was lucky. He probably still ought to go to a real hospital, but he knew that Donnie wouldn't go, that's why he came to him. With most of the physical injuries dealt with, Donnie just needed to sober up and rest his head. There wasn't much he could do for a concussion, but Donnie definitely had one. Not apparating had been a brilliant idea.

“You're gonna crash here tonight, Don.” He said to him. “But first, you're going to need a shower and a few glasses of water—actually, I think I have a sports drink, that should be better for you. Give you those electrolytes too.” He bit his lip, still worried. He went to grab the light blue beverage, and brought it back to him. “So, physically, anything hurt? Any ribs I missed? Anything?” Donnie looked fine now, but John worried. “And emotionally, well, something's definitely eating you. Go on, Donnie. Out with it.”

Donnie clenched his teeth, making sure his tongue was tucked safely away. This was not the first time he'd had a shoulder reset and he didn't want to accidentally cause himself another injury by biting his tongue from pain. He let out a strangled yelp as John pushed his arm back into its socket, feeling the grind of bone on bone and feeling it resonate through his entire body. "Ring me mother!" Donnie swore as he carefully rolled his shoulder. The one good thing about getting a shoulder popped back into place was that once the excruciating pain of the initial pop was done, the pain immediately dropped to a dull throbbing.

As John continued, Donnie felt his injuries mending. He could breathe easier once his ribs were back in one piece and the constant undercurrent of pain caused by his excessive bruising eased away to barely a tickle of discomfort. The former Auror knew he'd had worse before, but that was when he was younger and wasn't so thoroughly used up. "Ya know, nobody ever tells ya when yer twenty that your body is keepin' a tally o' yer bumps and aches and it's plannin' on sending ya the bill when ya hit thirty," Donnie complained as he stretched, grimacing. He offered John a slight grin as he went through the various tests to check on his mental condition. "I know a number o' people what might ask how ya can tell the difference between what might be busted and what were already broken inside ma skull," he teased. Donnie was clever, he had been a Slytherin after all, but he could be as brash and reckless as any Gryffindor ever was.

He took the bright blue drink with a grateful smile. "Thank ye, cousin." Doinnie's accent was still thick, a testament to his inebriation and exhaustion. He never hid his rough Irish upbringing but enough years of schooling and working in London had softened his accent in most circumstances. "Nah, nah," he assured his cousin, waving off his concern over his physical condition. "Ya did a right fine patch-up on me." At the inquiry into his emotional state, he gave a small huff, and took a long draw on the sports drink to give himself a bit of time to figure out what exactly he wanted to say.

"Just me, making a fool o' myself over a pretty face. Ya know how that is." Donnie wasn't exactly lying, but he wasn't being exactly truthful either. He had hardly been celibate since his Hana had passed, but no woman since her had out Donnie in such a state. He was hoping John would be tired enough to just drop it, but that was unlikely. Just as Donnie had been there and refused to back down when his cousin was in a bad place, John wasn't likely to accept his excuses at face value.

John was glad that Donnie seemed physically to be doing alright now. He just had to worry about the concussion and getting Donnie to sober up a little. He had a few leftover hangover potions in the cabinet that Donnie would want in the morning, and the sports drink should help with that, too. Now, all he needed was a nice shower and then he could sleep it off on John’s futon. John was a planner. He liked to know everything he was going to do and what order he was going to do it in. He watched Donnie sip the drink, and felt a little better. Of course, then Donnie started talking about the reason he was in such a state. Making a fool over a pretty face? That seemed likely, but not the whole story.

John knew Donnie well enough. He wasn’t the type to get like this over any rejection. He must have really liked this girl, or even loved her. John was curious as to what had happened. He knew Donnie didn’t have to look far for girls to take home, but at the same time Donnie wasn’t like him. He wasn’t looking for a few nights of fun from a pretty young thing where he could send her away after the fun was done. He was looking for a partner, a lover, a wife. John knew he would never find someone like that again—not after Amelia—but Donnie had every opportunity to find the perfect girl. He was young still, handsome, successful. Women swooned over Donnie for one reason or another. John thought for sure there was someone out there who would go the distance with him.

“Mm, and what happened with her?” John asked, finally. “She turn you down?” Seemed a bit unlikely too, but John never knew. She must have really pulled a number on him for Donnie to look like such a mess. John slung his arm over Donnie’s shoulder affectionately.

"Nah," Donnie replied coolly. "Yah gotta get around ta the asking ta get rejected." He didn't blame Lorin for wanting to go out and find boys to date. She was young, pretty, smart. She could do better than an old man who had a tendency to forget to feed himself when caught up in his head. The former Auror had been getting up the courage to approach her with his hopes but she was already moving on.

He leaned his head on John's shoulder, like he had done when he was a confused and angry and sad little boy. "She worked fer me. Remember how I ended up in St. Mungo's that last time I took on a big job and ya came inta my room and gave me a good punch and told me ta not die on ya again?" He chuckled at the memory. "Well, I decided I should take on a kind of live-in secretary ta keep me from killin' maself. So I hired tha daughter of a friend, fresh outta Hogwarts. She needed sommat to put on her resume and I knew she wouldna take none of ma sass."

Another long drink from the bottle of blue liquid. "So it was only supposed ta be fer a few months. But we got on better than I thought we ever could. We could sit and talk. I could make her think. She could make me laugh." Donnie's smile was wistful. "So a few turned into a couple more an a couple more afta that." He shook his head. "I knew I was fallin' an I shoulda ended it because there was no way it coulda turn out." His smile slipped slightly. "But it had been so long since I had lived with someone else, a lady no less. I'd forgotten how nice it is, ta have someone who's glad ta see ya at the end o' the day."

Donnie drained the bottle and idly turned it in his hands. "I couldna date her while she was workin' fer me. That didn't sit right with me." He shrugged. John new that Donnie was an upstanding guy for all his bluster and playing up his Slytherin side. "I was working towards telling her I wanted her to stop being my secretary and that I hoped she'd consider maybe being my girl." He sighed. "But I was too late. She already had a boy. Found her tryin' to usher him outta the flat afore I woke up." He let his head flop onto the back of the couch behind him. "So I decided that I was being foolish, chasin' after a girl almost half ma age that wasn't ever gonna see me in tha same way."

"An that's the long and short of it," Donnie finished, not looking at John. "I was a right idiot and I got what I deserved."

When the story came out, it all came out at once. John sat still and listened. This was a tragic story, really. Younger girls always made things complicated, especially when they captured a heart like this. He wondered if she felt for him, too, or if she was just doing her job. He supposed he would never know. It seemed strange for them to have so much chemistry when it was just one-sided, though. John had never been in a purely one-sided relationship. Sure, there were girls he’d been physically attracted to who didn’t feel the same, but if he was romantically attracted they always seemed to reciprocate those feelings. He didn’t want to give Donnie false hope, though, and he didn’t know enough about her to state anything with any degree of certainty. He frowned a bit.
 
“That’s awful, Don.” John said, watching him. “If she can’t see what a catch she had in you, she’s too stupid for you.” He shrugged. “Maybe you and I should go out. Maybe not to get beaten up, but where I can be your wingman.” He offered. “I’m sure I could find you several girls just as pretty to take your mind off of her for a night.” He knew that wasn’t really what Donnie wanted, but that was what John could provide. John was an excellent wingman. He was charming and well-educated and had money, and girls liked that. He just had to make sure he could build up his partner—and Donnie wasn’t hard to build up. He was charming and handsome and successful, too, albeit in a different way. Donnie could get girls if he wanted them. He could have a different one every night, but John knew that wasn’t his scene, and didn’t know anyone appropriate to try to set him up with.
 
“I know that’s not usually your scene, but I want to help you move on. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you with a girl. Maybe you can meet someone and really hit it off. Is there anyone you work with that might be a good candidate? I’ve got a few pretty ones that I work with, but I doubt they’d let me set them up on a blind date. Maybe you should sign up for one of those dating services. With the videos?” He offered.
 
“Or maybe just take a few nights off and go out somewhere, I know a good DJ that plays in a club downtown on the weekends, and there are w few restaurants that have live bands. I even know a place that does poetry on Wednesday nights.” He offered. Maybe this was too much advice for Donnie’s drunk mind to handle. “But.. getting the snot beat out of yourself can’t be the healthiest coping mechanism…”

Donnie gave John a small smile. He knew his cousin would always be there to help cheer him up, to tell him what he needed to hear, not just what he wanted to. Finding a girl for a one-night stand was definitely not Donnie's scene. He was a dating man, always had been. While he'd been in relationships that weren't serious, he'd always gone out on a few dates at least. The thought of a single night of sex with no connection didn't appeal to him at all. "I'd be up for drinks, but just that," he replied, still smiling. John could always drown his sorrows in a pretty face. Donnie didn't seem to have that luxury.

"I did consider datin' once or twice," Donnie admitted, "but no one caught ma eye." His eyes got a far-away look to them. "You remember Hanaleigh, don't ya? How much of a firecracker she was? The way she wouldn't take shite from anyone, especially not me." He chuckled. "How she always ate the spiciest curry she could get her hands on." Donnie was smiling, but tears were running down his cheeks. Suddenly his face dropped. "Sometimes I wake up and I can't see her face clearly," he admitted in a broken whisper. "I'm forgettin' what her favorite perfume smelled like, how she took her tea. I feel like I'm losin' her all over again and I can't stop it."

He wiped his face on his arm, taking a deep breath. "This girl is different, but she affected me just tha same. No one else has ever done that ta me." Donnie shook his head. "But maybe y'er right. No dancing, though. Ya know I'm shite on my feet if I ain't fightin'. The poetry sounds nice, though. I've always liked poetry."

John sighed, watching Donnie go through a wide array of emotions all at once. John could understand, to an extent. He still saw Amelia often, but he did start forgetting little things about her. Twenty years was a long time to be married, but he was beginning to forget some of the good times, in favor of remembering all the times he had failed and betrayed her. IT wasn’t the same, though. John had been the one to leave Amelia, but Hannaleigh was gone forever. She wouldn’t come around for tea and take a check every month or two. Donnie really was losing her memory. She was nothing but a ghost, and John had never lost someone in that way. Nothing permanent like that. Even his parents were still alive and well. He missed Carina, too. She was more of a ghost than Amelia. He worried he would never get to see her again, and lamented the time he already lost with her.

“I remember.” John said, moving closer to Donnie for a light embrace. He really needed that shower, but John knew he needed to get this out first. “It’s okay to move on, Don.” He assured. “Remember the good times with her, but you don’t need to dwell on the details. She would want you to continue to live your life. Find someone new, and build a life.” He offered. He was no counselor, but he tried his best to be a supportive friend.

“Sounds like this girl is dumber than a box of rocks if she’s not interested. I know it can be hard when you feel a spark, I know that all too well, but… maybe it’s time you got back on the dating circuit, you know? I can set you up on a blind with a girl from the office, if you’d like? I know the perfect girl already. She’s in the spell damage ward, around your age. Ravenclaw….”