Wren took several slow steps along the dark back alley. She could see the trail of the tracing spell glimmer on the ground. The perp was certainly somewhere close; the golden line in the muck was glowing brighter. She quickly looked over her shoulder, but her partner was nowhere to be seen. The street behind her was crowded, so she assumed Greengrass was still struggling with crossing it. The bloke was a pureblood and a bit of a clot. Traffic lights were still giving him trouble.

She heard a rustle, behind the bins; and clutched the wand tighter in her hand. Greengrass was taking his bloody time!

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Office for the Detection and Confiscation-"

She didn't get to finish this bloody lengthy name, and 'of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects' got stuck in her throat - when a spell hit her between her shoulder blades. Her last thought before the world went black was that Greengrass was so dead.

That hadn't been Wren's first unconsciousness due to her own daft urge to stick her bloody nose into every sodding dark corner - but this one surely was in the top ten of the mankiest. The hearing returned first, and she could hear what surely were the voices of healers. She recognised the detached intonations. She was coming to, so she clearly wasn't the priority. The smells came pretty soon, her ridiculously sensitive nose caught the balms, the cleaning supplies, some other grotty medical ward stuff.

She tried opening her eyes, but except for a tiny line of light, all fuzzy and unpleasant, she got nothing. She took another deep breath in. Her spine whined in protest; and she cringed.

Fingers pressed to her throat, checking the pulse. She immediately recognised the touch of a gloved hand. She tried to mumble that she was somewhat awake; but all that came out was a moan and a cough.

And then she slowly opened her eyes.

A face slowly came out of the fog; the features sharpened in front of her eyes; first, bright attentive eyes, then dark thick eyebrows, and then the nose.

Wren was definitely having hallucinations.

Because no way in sodding hell she was looking at her ex boyfriend, Thorin Durinson.

"Hiya, Leary. You with me?"

Fuck Wren's life.

She groaned, and squeezed her eyes tightly. Maybe, the hallucination would go away. You know, back to the triple padlocked closet at the back of her mind, where she kept the fantasies and painful memories of the said Thorin Durinson.

"Leary, are you trying to wish me away?"

Bloody hell, that was him! The same voice, the mocking intonations, and that purr he always used to lace into her name. It'd been six years - but the chance she was mistaken was the size of a beetle eye.

Wren opened one eye and peeked. Yep. Thorin Durinson. Well, Thorin Durinson plus six years. The last time she'd seen him had been through a two-way mirror; the two of them yelling at each other; finally fully breaking up; him in Russia, in the flat he was renting with his mates from the Petrovsky Academy; her in her dorm in London.

And now the git was smiling at her like she was his long lost sister.

"Did he get away?" she rasped out, and tried to sit up.

His hand gently pressed into her shoulder. Bloody sodding hell! His large, warm hand... Apparently, six years did nothing to how much those hands affected her.

"The Wizard you were chasing?"

Wren opened the second eye. He leaned closer, and examined her pupils. Merlin's pants, he even smelled the same way! Not that she remembered or thought of it, thank you very much.

"Yeah, he did. The bloke who was with you, Greengrass, summoned us. He found you in the alley."

"Greengrass is a knobhead," Wren snapped. A familiar lopsided smirk twisted Durinson's curled up lips.

"Give the plonker a break. Not everyone is a badarse Animagus." He slowly waved his wand over her chest. "There's a bit of bruising, one of your ribs might be cracked. I'll get you a chomping cabbage potion. Take a deep breath in."

She obeyed, pretending not to study him. Let's face it, most doctors were fit; fit doctors seemed even fitter... He was so fit that the universe would implode if he smiled or unbuttoned the top of that robe of his. Altogether, it was one big bleeding disaster. And she was pretty sure she had a nasty scrape on her face; and she was dressed in Muggles clothes, and... Oh, who bloody cared?

His spell curled into a small cloud of magic above her chest, and he intently peered into it.

"No damage to the lungs." Oh bloody hell, the even professional tone. And with so much ease! Like he was saying it every day! Oh wait, he probably was. "You have a bruise on your face..." Of course she did. Sod her luck. "But otherwise, not too bad." He looked at her, and suddenly chuckled.

"What?" Did he have to look so blinding fit?

"You're twitching your nose. Just like before." He gestured around his long conk. "Like the nervous tick. Or like Madame Vastra."

Wren felt blush spill on her cheeks. Oh that's just ace. Effing eff.

After Durinson left, Wren finally uncurled the fingers of her spasmodically fisted hands and exhaled. She knew of course that he'd moved to Manchester; and she had thought of him when she'd gotten this assignment. Had she hoped to see him? Never in her bloody life. She'd rather Glacius her leg off than meet him. Not after what had happened between them. And especially not in the state she was in right now. It couldn't have gotten any worse, could it?

She could hear other patients rustle, clank with something, and talk quietly behind the curtains, separating her cot from the rest of the ward; and she sank down, and pulled the thin blanket higher.

The assignment was supposed to be super easy. Find the perp, apprehend, haul his arse back to London. Both her and Greengrass were still considered newbies; so the perp wasn't even supposed to be dangerous. And let's face it, his spell was pissing ridiculous. Just a nudge of half arsed Stupefy into her back. The bloke was smuggling Lobalug venom, on a small scale, couple deals the previous year. And she had announced she was an Auror, so she was surprised he even dared to resist.

She assumed of course it was because of what she looked like - in the daft Muggle clothes, her skinny old self even less impressive; the mop of ginger hair; pins like lolly sticks.

"Can I come in, Leary?" Greengrass' voice came from behind the curtain; and Wren rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, come in."

The bloke was short and sort of tubs; and she felt suddenly sorry for him. She knew it had been one of his first cases in the field. He was from an old family; and not one with good history. He was honestly trying to do his best; to prove his worth; but he was clearly made for a desk job. She'd been wondering from the beginning of this case why he'd even been partnered with her. She didn't exactly have the reputation for most peaceful life. She was driven, and ambitious, and impatient - and she fancied it that way. Going straight into the centre of a scuffle - that was her thing. Poor Greengrass!

He shifted his weight between his feet. The Muggle jumper and jeans looked ridiculous on him.

"How are you?" he mumbled, and gave her puppy eyes.

"Just a couple of scrapes, nothing much. What happened there, Arthur?" she asked, pinning him with a dark butcher's.

"I heard the noise," Greengrass muttered. "And... I saw him running out of the alley, but I couldn't... He had the wand in his hand, and I thought if I engaged him, he'd start firing spells left and right; and... So I just ran in, to see how you were... And then I called backup, and the healers."

"And? Where is he now?"

"We don't know."

"Have you checked his last registered address? His mom's place?"

Greengrass shook his head.

"Arthur! What the hell were you doing then, after you found me pitiful self in that alley? The man attacked an officer of the law; he'll be on the run. He needs money, he needs potions. He'd go to his place! To his mom's house! That's why we are in the city at the first place!"

"I was here!" Greengrass bleated. "They brought you here; and I stayed! I was worried!"

"I don't give a monkey's that you were worried, Arthur! You were supposed to do your job!"

"You aren't my superior officer, Wren." Greengrass seems to have found his spine. At least he attempted to, squaring his shoulders and jerking his round chin up.

"No, but I'm clearly the only competent one here! If it were you, not me in that alley, I'd call healers on you, and left you in their capable hands..." Not thinking about Durinson's hands, Wren! Don't you dare! "And then I'd go after the perp, because by now he might be in Timbuktu!"

The bloke pressed his head down into his shoulders.

"So, Arthur," Wren drew out venomously, "How do you fancy to be the one reporting to Lupin?" Greengrass grew even more pasty.

"But, Leary- You have better rapport with him!"

"Damn right I do! And you know why? Because I work my arse off! And I deliver! And we respect each other!"

And all that despite their history - but Wren wasn't going to mention that, of course. She knew that was the first thing everyone would remember - that her and Teddy used to be an item - but now he was her Sergeant; and they were professionals.

Greengrass emitted a sad sigh, nodded, and headed out. Wren leaned back onto her pillow and closed her eyes.

It was supposed to be a simple 'grab and shackle' - an Auror had impersonated a buyer, back in London; a tracing spell had been put on the perp; they followed him here. A dark alley, no Muggle witnesses, no danger of exposure. Instead, she was in an infirmary; and the suspect was nowhere to be found.

And somehow her nose was full of Thorin bloody Durinson, though he hadn't touched her other than during a quick examination, and in rubber gloves, mind you. He wasn't using any cologne, a medical professional as he was. And how was this even possible - to catch the spicy fresh smell of his skin, and feel how familiar and warm and... sodding delicious it was?! She'd always thought that he smelled of juniper; and now her nose was indeed twitching as if seeking more of that fragrance.

He looked good. Bloody hell, he did. The hair was cut short; the last time she saw him it had been below his jaw. His shoulders seemed even wider, and the chest properly filled in. And cor blimey, he looked so bloody sexy in the healer's robe!

Wren took a deep breath. She needed to stop obsessing over her ex, and get her head out of her arse. Durinson said that the chief healer would have a look at her in half an hour; and she reckoned she'd be released. All she needed to do was to get through this, and go back to her investigation. And Thorin Durinson would go back to being her past - and this would become a ridiculous anecdote she'd be telling to her mates over a pint. End of story.