Between the treatment, resurrection, and how draining his contract had been, Teatime slept a day and a half. He woke up with a start and only relaxed once he saw that, even though he had been moved to a proper room, the sword was still laid out for him. Only, now, it was joined by his freshly laundered outerwear.

Perfect, because Susan Sto Helit had to pay.

She'd killed him, of course, and that wasn't something that should just be let go. Far worse than that, though, was that she'd undoubtedly undone all of his brilliant work by then. The Hogfather was likely resurrected and back into place like Teatime hadn't killed him off, and there was no real chance of returning to the tower to set it up again. Everything would be like he hadn't even been there.

That would have been unforgivable enough, but then, then! She'd decided to dig up certain… aspects that he'd very much liked keeping buried. She'd put them out for everyone to see, and had even grinned and slapped him for emphasis. Frankly, death wasn't a good enough punishment. She needed to be humiliated. And, for that, he needed a plan.

Unfortunately, his body was somehow even stiffer than when he'd fallen asleep. While he wasn't in searing pain anymore, his back certainly didn't feel particularly functional. Just getting out of the cot and to the bathroom was an ordeal that required gratuitous use of the wall. He was in no condition to seek any kind of revenge, much less against an enemy of unknown ability. So, for then, he'd spend his recovery time conducting research

And, what luck, there happened to be a rather famous library right on campus!

His outerwear had been placed beside a set of day clothes, made of tragically cheap fabric in far too bright of colors. Evidently, he was expected to stay during his recovery (probably for observational purposes). And that would likely allow for some freedom of movement within the facilities. It wouldn't take much to sneak in, and…

Someone was coming. Teatime went for the knife that was no longer at his belt (what kind of day clothes didn't have holsters?). He prepared, uncouth as it was, to use his fists until he realized that it was the young wizard from the other day. Only then did he return to a more neutral stance.

"Oh, you're up," Ponder said, seemingly oblivious to what had nearly happened. "I had thought you, ah, you might sleep another day. You were… really banged up."

Teatime gave him a wide smile, "I've always been very resilient."

"That's great. I'd… I'd just like to run a few tests. See how you're coming back and all…"

"That'd be fine. I'd love access to the library, afterwards. I don't have a lot of strength right now, but I could certainly read."

"I'll… I'll see what I can do. It really is the Librarian's call, after all, but I think I, ah… Or I think maybe we could get that to happen." He pulled a notepad out. "Let's start with your reflexes."

Teatime sat down, and let Ponder move his limbs this way and that. He let his spine be examined, mostly with fingers running down his back.

"You're, ah… You're well put together," Ponder said. "I guess it must be part of being an Assassin. Wizards don't get much time for that sort of work… And even if we did, we'd probably just spend it on another feast." His face was slightly pink, again, as he listened to Teatime's stomach with a stethoscope.

"I'd love the chance to read like wizards do, though," Teatime said. "There can be an unfortunate disinterest in research."

"It's here, too, I'm afraid. Especially with the holiday, they all just want to slack down to the main hall."

Teatime tsk'd. "This city is far too obsessed with Hogswatch."

"Thank you!" Ponder exclaimed as he scribbled down his notes. "It's just a solstice festival, but the world will end if we don't dedicate everything to it…"

"That's what I say," Teatime shrugged. "But my way of thinking rarely lines up with anyone else's."

"Same here. I think it can be a good thing sometimes, though." He closed up his notepad. "You wanted to see the library?"

"Yes, please."

The Library was still rather empty, and likely would be until the new year where the majority of faculty and pupils admitted it was time to get back to work.

The Librarian enjoyed the break. His area was silent, truly for once, and books were always where they were expected to be. Though, of course, perfect order could get dull after a while, and he would take his time to watch the visitors a little more closely. Generally that only amounted to Ponder, or a student sent to look something up for him. But tonight…

The guest, as Ponder had referred to him, was not in and of himself magical. He had enough of an aura to be allowed to sit in the magical areas of the library, but it certainly didn't seem to be his own.

And Ponder had originally seemed ready to just drop him off there. But, when he heard his guest would be studying a topic he'd never tried before, he joined in covering a table with an absolute mountain of books.

They chatted excitedly as they filled page after page with notes. And, since they could hardly show one another things on opposite ends of the table, they took chairs closer to one another. And were forced to move closer again when their available space shrunk.

In what they would consider organic, within an hour they were shoulder to shoulder. Which, of course, led to an awful lot of accidental touching. Elbows bumping into one another, a hand on the shoulder while they looked over something the other had found, brushing fingers that lingered a little too long while they passed books…

And neither seemed to get it. Really, it was questionable if they even noticed they were doing it.

Just as it seemed that at least one had caught on, the guest gave a strangled cry and clutched his back. Ponder, in the mild panic he always lived in, looked at the Librarian in a desperate apology for all the books he'd have to re-shelve.

The Librarian waved them off, and rolled his eyes as they headed out. Leave it to Ponder to find someone as oblivious as he was.

Laying on an actual mattress felt better. Or it would afterwards. For the moment his back was once again burning, and Teatime kept his face buried in the pillow.

"Here we are!" Ponder said, quickly, as he let the green cloud dissipate and grabbed a handful of the mixture. He ran a thick line of it down Teatime's spine, then started to massage it in.

"That feels really good," Teatime said, dreamily, as he let his head loll to the side.

"I'm glad," Ponder replied. "It's my own personal blend. Hex isn't, ah, it isn't good for the wrists…"

"Mm…"

It made sense that resurrection would not be a one-and-done sort of thing. Certain body parts were inevitably going to wake up slower than others. And certain body parts were far more eager to announce themselves than others. One in particular had a penchant for the dramatic.

Teatime's eyes, which had been drifting shut only a moment before, snapped open in concerned intensity. There'd been a twitch in the Library which was easily ignored, but now there was a growing heat. Being face-down on the mattress was nowhere near as comfortable as it'd previously been, and staying still nowhere near as easy. He realized, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that it was only getting worse.

He didn't want the massaging to stop, though. It felt incredible, and more so now that it almost felt like his muscles were being lovingly traced. But the whole thing was sending fairly urgent signals elsewhere. That was, likely, quite bad for a working relationship with someone who seemed to be rather useful.

Teatime tried to forcibly regulate his breathing and keep his hips still. But when Ponder was less than careful, and let his nails scrape along the skin, it sent a jolt through him that…

"I really should get to sleep," Teatime said, quickly.

"O-oh, sorry," Ponder said. He jerked his hands back, and to cover it up by quickly grabbed the bowl. "You really should… Well… I'll see you in the morning?"

"Sure."

"Great… See you."

When there was a reluctant click of the door latch, Teatime rolled over and slid a hand gratefully under his waist band.

It had picked a horrible time to wake up, which was the nature of the beast he supposed. But it did give him the recent memory of hands on his skin to concentrate on. And his mind could drift back to the faint smell of soap as Ponder had leaned over his shoulder to look at a picture, and the feel of the arm that'd been wrapped around his waist as the went back to the room…

In a way that he could convince himself was organic, natural, and meaningless, Teatime had a wonderful fantasy in his head to carry him through.

Elsewhere in the University, completely organically and meaninglessly, Ponder had the same.

Still elsewhere, the Librarian suddenly had the worst headache.